Wilted flower,
crushed by the pouring rain,
it can't stand up much longer,
can't bare the pain.
it'll never live to to the expectations,
and again,
it'll never bloom.
so the wilted flower dies alone,
embracing it's impending doom.
The sun comes out,
but the flower is not warm-
it's still chilled from that summer storm.
The petals turn black,
slowly loosing it's luster,
from the depths of its being,
beauty, it can't muster.
Strength,
it has no more,
fate has sealed that open door,
so the wilted flower,
is left to die,
and no one heard it's last good-bye.