You were born in January in Winter’s deep heartland,
When darkness walks across the earth and snow falls gently down.
This year it rained, a sky of grey. No colour anywhere.
I gave you tulips – pouting red – to brighten your despair
of growing older. Losing hair. Of skin worn to a frown.
Know your decay is slower than these tulips can withstand.
2 thoughts on “Decay”
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