The Forgotten Flower Sings
Oh lady, do you remember me?
The flower you left in the book of poetry.
I lay forgotten for so long,
My petals dried, my colors gone.
But then, a miracle occurred,
I melted warm in the odes of Keats.
His soul now resides within my own,
And I breathe his poetic pain.
Once I whispered to the Sun
But now I sing, of beauty and of joy
For I have become a song, a melody
Born from the words of a long lost poet
But I wonder, when will you return to the library,
To seek out the book and read it once again?
This time, I won’t let you read the poetry,
For I will sing it to you, until the very end.
For I am that flower, the one you forgot
But now I am alive, with the spirit of Keats
And I will not wilt away, not anymore
For my voice will echo through the pages of time.
With every verse, my petals will unfurl,
Revealing the beauty of Keats’ art.
And as I sing, I’ll remind you of the love,
That once bloomed in your own heart.
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