The Wilted Plant

Alone it stood,
In isolation;
Waiting for someone,
To rescue it
From desolation.

The scorching heat,
Made it look parched;
Still no one came;
The thought,
Never sparked.

Nourishment was,
A far cry;
Water alone,
Would have made it high;
If only
Had been given a try.

No mercy showers,
No droplets of affection,
No signs of love,
No care or concern.

Still it stood,
Till the time it could;
Dying a slow death,
Without any regret.

Such was,
The sad plight
Of the wilted plant;
Shrivelled and cramped,
Was its stance.