The flowers tussled in your path,
bent under heavy handed wind.
The faded yellow of hopes lost,
stained the petals that fell to sin.
The darkened dreams lay decaying,
when the sun descended once again.
In a final crescendo,
the bruised petals sweep away.
Curling, writhing in the wind,
fluttering in disarray.
Your hand outstretched emptied,
toward the stem-less bouquet.