Wilting

Upon my table they rest their heads
lowly and humbly bent
Their faint fragrance a gardener cannot produce
even with years of pruning spent

Soft cheeks blush a crimson hue
while each reminisce of better days
When butterflies fluttered by for a view
and bulbs blooming invited birds to gaze

Upon my table they rest their heads
hugging each other
as in a parting embrace
Releasing each petal
to kindly slip away

No eulogy do they request
Only a slow and romantic death