The Lily

Pure and proud the Lily blooms,
Shrouding the entrance of hidden tombs.
An image of grace and beauty,
A model of trust and duty.
But what terror looms
Beneath its sweet perfumes?

The petals of the Lily,
So delicate and bright,
Serve to shield and cover
The darkness of the night.

The Lily is most angelic,
Admired by all.
It’s petals reach toward the sky,
With pride it grows tall.

Yet no flower could last forever in this state.
Nothing can withstand time’s heavy weight;
Not even beauty can outwit predestined fate.
And so the Lily withers and dies–
A thunderous rain falls from the skies.

In graceful spirals its petals tumble,
And blanket the dirt
As the Lily crumples.