The Last flower

Down the road, long trodden,
moved many a cart, heavily laden.

Beside the path, a heavenly tree,
where many weary brow rested their knee.

Next to the tree grew a flowering plant
beauty and fragrance to the travelers that sat.

In sunshine, rain, summer and everyday,
the flowering plant lived with abandon and gay.

Then one summer, brought with it an ugly drought,
and with it a pail of death it brought.

Not a single drop of blue was left to quench, on the dear earth.

The proud flowering plant grew thinner everyday
the drought taking its fee with abandon and gay.

One day, an old poor haggard came that way, mourning,
he sat under the barren tree, next to the thinning plant.

He looked at the plant and said,
"give me just one flower, just one, for my wife's grave, over whom death has won"
"and to put on her grave, nothing did I save."

The plant, touched by his grief, felt sorry
seeing the poor man worry,
and was determined to give him on beautiful, fragrant flower... the last flower.

The old man sat on and wept, lost in his memories,
as the plant struggled on, to get a flower by morn.

And as the man slept, the once proud beauty wept,
as there was not much life left, to get the last flower, out.

But it worked, it paled, and finally, out came a bud,
the plant struggled on, it was almost morn,
the plant pushed and with its final strength, the bud did blossom,
the last flower was ready, full of beauty and scent.

The sun came out and touched the old man's sleeping brow,
but the plant felt no heat.

The old man rose and with joy he wept,
for the flower was there, full of beauty and scent.

He plucked the flower and left, with memories of his wife,
as death won over the plant, it had lived its life,
it's soul was joyful and scented, as it had helped someone with,
It's last flower.