Lashing winds and pouring rains
It's not a cliche - it's accurate, precise
The Plant always stretches towards the silver lining
It seeks the pleasant, smiling sun
When the clouds cover the horizon
And the silver lining lies beyond this hemisphere
The Plant is lost.
Slowly it dies - drowned by the fretful skies
It begins to sway a giddy sway swirling
In whirlwinds, blurring the lines
Between progress and regress.
A siege of the elements, lurching it back and forth
It loses its colour and turns a pale pallor.
Only its fossil will be preserved for posterity.
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Whisper