Death
My chilly plant withers away.
In this cold, she shivers away -
with disdain look at her father,
for I forgot to sprinkle some water.
She used to love me a lot -
a gift I never shove a thought.
And now it's too late to repent,
for she is falling down a descent.
She's gone.
Alone in this dark night,
I miss her stark sight.
Now, I feel dis-enchanted
never take a gift for granted.
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