There was a flower on my desk
A crumpled, withered thing
Memories of being green
Now crisp, dried, yellowed
Shuffled through time's deck
Yet lying undisturbed
At peace.
A gift that never meant
More. Than it ever did.
At last it resembled more
The promise of the grave,
Than any promise that was made

There was a flower on my desk
But there is one no longer.