The Flower Pressed in Glass

Written by Alexa Taylor

So consumed with its beauty they fail to notice

the wilting of its leaves, the browning of its pedals;

its scent faded, its color lost.

The flower pressed in glass laid to rest

the marriage between its roots and the soil

that died the morning they did too.

And still it is beautiful,

and so it is desired

Like the light that reflects from its casket,

its soul lingers with warmth;

its memory ever so golden.