Flowers by my windowsill

The pinks blushed crimson
the violets seemed bluer
And every now and then
they smiled and quivered,
as the first rays of morning touched
the flowers by my windowsill

They stood, faces lit,
cheerful and vivacious
yet singed, bit by bit,
by the sun so ruthless
The noon burned on and so did they,
the flowers by my windowsill

The pinks had withered
the violets hung their heads
A few petals fluttered,
others fell in shreds
I watched the night engulf
the flowers by my windowsill...