Dead people receive more flowers than Living ones
“In the realm where souls rest, where silence prevails,
Where the living and dead intertwine like tales,
Flowers bloom, vibrant hues in a realm unseen,
Where regret spills forth, while gratitude remains unseen.
For the dead, a symphony of blossoms abound,
Petals cascading, adorning their sacred ground,
In death's embrace, bouquets of sorrow arise,
As if to compensate for the absence of goodbyes.
Regret, the weighty companion of the living heart,
A relentless shadow, tearing our souls apart,
It whispers in the depths, echoing through our veins,
Seeking solace in gestures, in floral remains.
But what of the living, whose hearts still beat,
Whose love, like a river, flows endlessly sweet?
Their presence, like a sunbeam, warms the soul,
Yet gratitude often remains untold.
We take for granted the beauty they bestow,
The kindness they sow, that continues to grow,
Yet their existence, like a fragile flower's bloom,
Yearns for acknowledgment, amidst regret's gloom.
Oh, how the living deserve a vibrant bouquet,
To brighten their days, to chase sorrows away,
For gratitude, a gentle rain on parched ground,
Nourishes the spirit, in whispers profound.
Let us not wait until their presence is no more,
To scatter petals, as regrets knock on death's door,
Instead, let gratitude bloom, like a field in spring,
For the living and dead, an offering we bring.
For in the end, regret's burden may weigh us down,
But gratitude's embrace can turn sorrow around,
So let us shower the living with flowers true,
For their existence is a gift, a blessing imbued.”
