The table sits, right where it always sat;
The sun comes up, the way it always does.

The air surrounds me, and my legs still move;
Yes, everything’s exactly as it was.

The flowers, though, are wilted and abject,
Their life-force, once so vibrant, is now spent

For flowers, like love does, must one day die,
And leave us won’dring
Where
The beauty
Went