PASSING THROUGH

I do not complain
I bloomed so very long
I do not mourn my demise
I'm too long in the thorn
I do not miss my beauty
Or my fragrance
Once strong
I lament not my youth
Or my freshness
Long gone
For my pleasure lies watching
As new buds are born
Though I harbour no wish 
To stay
Linger on
And I have already choosen
My last resting place
Just left of the daisies
By the wrought iron gate.
Marion Price
(2018)