Beauty is the Dewdrops that fall off a morning Rose. Beauty is the red glow of its shadow in the morning. A new born baby is what we call Perfection. Now like the Rose we begin to grow not knowing our Beauty will fade.
We hide in a room and close the door. Now we stay hidden as my tears hit the floor, thats when i hear a knock on the door. I hear sounds around me as i head for the door. Thats when i see the wilted "Rose" fall softly to the floor.
" Perfection" and "Beauty"
We will last no more. Death has
come knocking on our door. Now
those who come see me, will see frail skin.
Our "Beauty and Perfection"
Like dust in the Wind.