The flowers died on Monday, but the rain came Tuesday.
The sun was bright and shining by Sunday,
And it had already been a week
Since the flower withered and fell so silently.
Only if it had held on, only if it had waited, only if it had made it— But it didn’t.
People say, “Hold on, it gets better. Don’t worry.”
People say, “Hold on,” but they cut the rope and it’s over.
People say, “Take the good with the bad.” And that’s true.
But when people say they love you, They will help you.
The flower died on Monday,
And the rain came Tuesday.
Between Wednesday and Sunday, it’s a blur—
Because the flower had withered.
So hold on, it will be fine. Hold on, it takes time.
Well, what they say may have some points, But what they say— Does it have proof?
The flower died on Monday, and the sun was shining Sunday.
But too many people had touched its petals and picked them off,
Only taking the good—the best of them all— Leaving the bad, un-grown, still blooming, kind. Taking its good, but leaving the bad behind.