Sonnet: The Flower’s No More

A flower rare grew ’midst the wild flowers,
And had such beauty, words can never tell!
Last year, ’twas born in July-end showers;
This July rain became its fast death knell.

The flower will not grow here-aft again!
No more its sweet perfume shall emanate;
And while alive, this land always did gain;
Some persons didn’t allow it pollinate.

The flower’s dead and none can resurrect!
The time was short for seeds to generate;
But all the time, it stood with grace- Erect!
And gained a place in hearts that venerate.

The flower will not bloom herein again!
Ill-luck had smiled, denying all, its reign.

7-2O-2003 by Dr John Celes
Dedicated to
(my 888th poem submitted here)

by Dr. A.Celestine Raj Manohar M.D.,

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