The day was clear, the sky was blue.
The trees all silent; not one bird flew.
A river quickly gargled by,
A bubbly voice in reply

To the sibilant speech of leaves.
The grass – it stood in emerald sheaves,
Blades declaring war with air,
Amidst the calm, none was aware

Of the destitute dogwood in the corner,
Crying tears of flowers. A mourner
Saddened by the pass of spring,
Its branches serving as a curtain ring

For the drapes of Flora.
And amongst the cerise plethora,
A single dancer stepped apart,
Deciding that its journey should start.

The rosy skirts skimmed the mirror,
And the world was never stiller.
Soon, it simply floated along,
With no sense of right or wrong.

An endless horizon is what it faced,
And by frivolous currents ‘twas chased.
As the petal drifted away,
None had known it lost its way.