The scent of dried up peonies

Flowers dying

each side to my bed

life and color are no more,

but still beautiful

are the falling petals

dry to their core.

And with them falls

the scent of dried up peonies.

The rose pink inside

lost to brown in the end

and while blue-finches sing

the two continue to blend

Silhouettes write stories lived

in the empty space between flowery buds.

And with them lives

the scent of dried up peonies.

Leaves are rustling

wind-chimes play

the birds take off flight

leaving nothing behind

but, in the evening gold

with a breeze made by wings

The scent of dried up peonies.