A pretty little bloom
Budding in her womb

Nurtured by the wind
Loved without end

Then early frost
Her petals lost

The eyes weep
She’s with sage, forever asleep

The winds with love immense
Aren’t enough to catch her little wren

The mockingbird grows
She’s far too alone

You see the clouds quiver
And the torrents like a river From the sky Hear her cry
All of her denial
All of the breaking and shattering and flooding
Her grief
No relief

Trying to call her
The pretty little Dahlia