The flowers are out,
Everyone else is too.
The sky is light blue.
Laying on fields of grass,
We lay in the flowers
of our past.
You wish you could lay there for hours
These flowers change as we do,
slowly, but surely.
Everything changes as just like you,
We even change prematurely.
Everyone is the same.
We are all flowers trying to bloom.
We’ll be okay, if we aren’t burnt by the flame.
We will find our way, until we reach our inevitable doom.
The second season of the year.
Our struggles are like a bee sting.
Even if it’s small, it is able to hurt like a spear.
Our life is a kind of Spring on it’s own.
The flowers begin to bloom
and the change is shown.
The flowers then die, having the ground as its tomb.