If My Cranium Were a Daisy: a poem

Staff Writer
With each wilting flower,
The new day dawns
And the sun’s blonde hair, ever so slowly,
Seeps into the skyline, each moment,
A little bit further, a little bit further.
But dusk will return, seasons the same!
Sure, but never again will petals un-bloom
And seeds un-sprout, for certain,
Dusk will return, seasons the same,
But gone are the moments my flower stood a stem,
Or my petals gleamed in the innocent, pure white,
For we became slaves to the oncoming tyranny of the sun
And today, my God, today I’ve yellowed,
Matured, my flower wilts.