Poetry- Art to Heart

Nature’s beauty so it’s called,

Each one perfectly flawed.

As it waits for the sun to rise,

Its beauty, never fails to entice thousand eyes.

They have thorns which may leave you sore,

But they also have petals which will always leave you to adore.

As the gates to heaven show the way,

The drops of colour start to decay.

They say flowers also weep,

When the leaves stoop low.

When the very branches that hold them,

Are now merely flakes.

Perfect? Imperfect? Or both? You may wonder.

They stand strong even through thunder.

Nature’s beauty so it’s called,

Each one perfectly flawed.