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They’re withering away, petal by petal.
Oh mighty Time, be gentle.

To my loved ones, bidding adieu I fear.
There aren’t many whom I hold dear.

Grandma’s hair is now white as snow,
Mother’s cheeks are now hollow.

Wrinkles and swollen veins run haywire,
Scars and sunburnt spots so dire.

These warm hands I never want to let go.
But someday they’ll turn cold I know.

I was 9 when Ariel was put to sleep.
They dumped her furry little body 3 feet deep.

Mother said they all die someday.
Mother said we all go the same way.

And one after another, they sure did.
My loved ones away in a shroud the earth hid.

So I stopped loving altogether.
And up came my walls, to let in no other.

Fear of death they call it.
But nay, I fear not my own death.

Oh mighty Time, be fair.
There aren’t many whom I hold dear.

My youth gives me no delight.
Let me not be the one left behind.

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