By
John G. Sutton
Windy Cold February morning
Dark clouds stalking the sky
Threatening the market place
With tears from a time gone by
Woman with faded flowers
Stands by her used goods stall
No one wants her paper roses
Then the rain begins to fall
Those sad unwanted petals
Do they recall the day?
When in their prime they shimmered
One summertime far away
The woman shuffles sadly
Her hands and feet grow cold
Standing in the market place
She can feel herself grow old
And like those forlorn flowers
That no one cares to own
She slowly, slowly fades away
Into the dark alone.