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Like a fading flower,
Fragile, wilting in its vase, It seemed time and life conspired To take the color from her face. Where went the cherries from her lips, And the apples from her cheeks? And whence the sparkle from her eyes, And the music from her speech?  What happened to her quickness, To her impulsive grin? What made her lose her vibrance, And the way she tossed her chin? When did she begin to falter, And her steps begin to slow? When did she start to stumble, Unsure of how to go? This creeping, sneaking thing, Of which no one was aware, Of what it was or how it came, Though clues were everywhere. But, once arrived, no good solution, Truly, nothing one could do, Patience, love, and understanding, The only tools to use. A hug, a pat, a kiss perhaps, May not renew a fading flower, But it may jump-start an aging heart, And add another happy hour. There is a similarity Between a flower and a man. Both do bloom, and both do fade, In their assigned life spans.
Pathetic, little, fading flower, Sad, tired, haunting face, God dearly loves them both, As each one fades with age. But do not sigh, and do not cry, When time presumes to claim its own, For youth and bloom will be resumed, When each one reaches Home.  
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