Bouquet
A little brown at the edges,
Where once all crisp and white.
The strong stem still lie straight
The bow not quite so tight.
The leaves have begun to wilt
But not given up the fight
Flowers resigned to their fate
Grasp on with all their might
The years may have passed
Memories now dreams at night
The bouquet though like his bride
To him still a handsome sight.
By Janet Bosson
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