Still there’s life

Time is passing
gently
measured by the wilting,
by the sweetness of decay
and by colors fading.

Time is leaving
step by step
by lovers clinging
to the scent
preserved as bookmarks
in books forgotten.

Time will stop
by flowers tethered
tightly into wreaths.

Still Life With Peonies and Clock Theodor Pallady

The Quadrille this week hosted by De at dVerse is written to the word of flowers.

February 10, 2026

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