The final Autumn bloom, fighting for the light

Latecomer on the verge

Winter of its’ life

Rooted in a common place

Stunted by the weather

Trodden on by passing souls

Ashamed by shorter measure

Never looked upon with want

Never pressed between the pages

Laced with lonely “love me naughts”

Petals falling to the ground

Winter comes its’ way

No one here to bed me down