The wilted tulip's at my door;
Her fragile petals fallen to the floor.
The withered stem that holds her tall;
Can't promise harm does not befall.
Leafy hands to the ground are stretched;
Stress marks on her body, etched.
Her color is fading from green to brown;
Her face hangs just above the ground.
She looks at me with pollen in her eyes;
Tries to call out between her cries.
This wilted little tulip is not past gone;
She has the strength to carry on.
A bit of sun and water too;
Are just enough to get her through.
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