A walk through the meadows

This was my first poem ever! I was probably about 13. I remember only showing it to my Gramdma Davis because at the time I thought I was a tortured soul... destined to be a poet and my work would only become famous after my death! ha ha ha! I remember her telling me that I was a deep thinker and I thought that was greatest thing to be told.

Walking through the meadows

reminiscing of the past,

I see the flowers picked in life

have always failed to last.

The blossoms of the marigolds

would hang their heads each day.

And suddenly the daffodils

would wither all away.

Among them all the rose stood out

with all it's sweet perfume.

And even with it's petals soft

soon too will meet it's doom.

Lesson learned...

Even withered flowers leave roots or seeds and bloom again!

I am not destined to be a poet.

I'm still a tortured soul!