Decay

The flowers that grow are soon to fall,
Sweet fragrance to fade away.
Like a new bike left out in the rain very slowly rusting away.

One day a child went out to play,
Very next day being put in her grave.

And the flowers that grew tall and right,
Fell the day of her sad philght.

That new bike ready for a ride,
Rusted away to nothing outside.

So the little girl dressed in red,
Is in her grave not alive but dead.