In gardens of dusk, where shadows dance,

There lies a withering plant, in whispered trance.

Once vibrant and lush, adorned with grace,

Now fading, its beauty begins to be erased.

A solitary bloom, with petals pale and frail,

Once kissed by sunlight, now cold and pale.

Its leaves, once emerald, now tinge of gold,

A poignant story that nature unfolds.

With each passing day, it wilts a little more,

Like a wilting heart, it yearns to restore.

Its fragile stem, aching for tender care,

Longing for love, as if in silent prayer.

But oh, how it fought against the changing tides,

Withstanding storms, with unwavering strides.

Through winds that howled and rains that wept,

It clung to life, resilience, adept.

Its drooping petals, like melancholy tears,

Tell tales of struggle, of forgotten years.

Yet amidst this faded, delicate plight,

It still harbors dreams, hidden from sight.

For even in decay, it holds a mystic hue,

A kind of beauty, only the observant few can view.

For in its fading grace, there is a whispered truth,

Even though beauty has faded, it still holds eternal youth.

So let us ponder this withering bloom,

And find solace through its gentle gloom.

For though it may fade, and petals may fall,

Within its withered frame, love still enthralls.

By Pedro Note

From: United Kingdom