A poem-ish entry to warm this space up, inspired by a bouquet of dead roses.

I saw the bouquet outside and took photos of it one fine evening. Looking at it inspired some words that formed into a few sentences.

So friends, here it is.

Something to read in a jiff before you step into the loo. Or something.


Faux Poem Titled: Bouquet Decay

Petals hang upside down.
Drying and decaying at the same time.

For a moment, the red roses are fresh.
In a flash, they rot beautifully, stiff, deep red and brown.

For a moment, they bend with the wind.
In a flash, they break into pieces with a touch of a sudden breeze.

Dust particles find home in the nooks and crannies of dry twigs and fragile leaves.
Microorganisms shelter, eat and multiply.

The decayed bouquet is still for a moment the wind ceases.
And if you come close, the scent of earthy wilderness shall dance in your nostrils.

Before long, every bit of it returns to earth while something else gives birth.

~~~

What do you think of this faux poem? Share your thoughts - I love reading them!