A symbol of life's fragility and pain,

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Dried flowers in a cracked earthenware vase,
In an abandoned room, their beauty fades.
Once vibrant and alive, they now decay,
A memory of life that's passed away.

The vase, a relic of a time long gone,
Its cracks a symbol of a life undone.
The room, a witness to a story untold,
A place where dreams and hopes were sold.

The flowers, once picked with care and love,
Now wilted, their beauty a thing of the past.
Their scent, a memory of a summer's day,
Their color, a reminder of life's display.

Oh, dried flowers in a cracked earthenware vase,
In an abandoned room, you hold a certain grace.
A symbol of life's fragility and pain,
A reminder that beauty, too, shall wane.