Petals Falling

A cursed flower counts the days,
That love has passed me by,
I count the petals endlessly,
Awaiting there to die.

Each petal's fall a knell of death,
Translated into beauty,
A fate accursed placed on my back,
And styled as a duty.

Duty weighs so heavily,
And death is but a feather,
Yet the mountain rests atop my back,
A burden I must weather.

The flower's final petal makes its most fluid decent,
The crushing weight replaced by a feather's elegance.