In the garden's quiet breath, a wilted flower lay,
Petals soft as whispers, turned to dust and grey.
Once it bloomed in splendour, kissed by morning dew,
Now it bows in silence, its vibrant days through.
Memories of sunlight, dance in faded hues,
A silent testament, to beauty's fleeting muse.
Roots still cling to earth, where dreams took flight,
Yet seasons change, and shadows steal the light.
In its tender sorrow, echoes of the past,
The wilted flower speaks, a tale that will last.
In the heart's deep garden, where time's river flows,
Even wilted flowers, can touch the soul that knows.
- Umasree Raghunath
