He bloomed like the yellow flowers on the street, Next to the pile of rotten leaves and weed. I do not remember the name, I knew once when I was younger, More innocent and stupid. The petals were far apart, And there were no pretty butterflies to suck its nectar. I went to smell it, for the bright yellow enticed me, But there was nothing. All I smelt was the wet concrete of the road, And my feet with slippers were covered in mud. The rain poured from above, crashing onto my frail umbrella And the wind started to blow. But the petals never fell, And I didn't want to go. -Rtr. Vibhavee Sarathchandra
“Yellow”
