petal

A book about books is like a poem about poetry:Books are knowledge, paid for, all.Readers - horses in a stall.Stallions should always run.Lest they stale become, in turn.Running waters are most clear.In some books, you disappear __ose yourself, and track of time.How I wish that one was mine...Mine, to have, to write, to read...Mine, just like a flying steed.Mine, forever, - to improve.Would I then, of me, approve?I would not, I can't... myself.I'm but dust, swept off a shelf.Fly, can I, just 'til I'm settled,down, beside my flower, petalled.

Children are like soft petals. One wrong pluck and they are damaged forever.

That was how she felt. Like a petal clinging to its stem, hopeful of staying, fearful of being cast away.

Publishing a book of poetry is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo.

Love is like dried flowers sometimes. Even though you watch the petals shrink and change colour, you cannot help treasuring them

She has lived and loved! There is no folded petal, no latent dewdrop, in this perfectly developed rose!