My Lost

A flower that grew so high,
The brightest colour of a favoured bride,
Walking on marbles, the ceiling is sky,
Spreading its petals with a magnificient pride,
always dancing in th caressing winds,
Whistles to the blessedness of the day,
A special specie of its own kind,
like a stream that approaches May,
Sweet necter, my heart excruciatingly longs,
Even bees perch with love so dear,
While other circles overhead with known songs,
Flower that seemed to stick to its stalk forever,
However, clouds wept upon your dusk.
Before night fall, the flower fell.
Deep darkness, My regrets dearly tell.

poem by Olabode Joseph Oluwatayo
Added by Poetry Lover
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