Petals, poems, prayers all peal open.
Love was born in the beating
of his heart against hers
time stood still as moments were stolen
…never to be returned.
She was a spring flower, full of life and vibrancy.
It's a wonder each and everyday I saw her.
She is so brave, growing in the autumn, with cold spiteful winds
and harsh freezing emotions of those around her.
Wind would whistle between
The curls of her bronzite hair,
Setting a crown of flowers upon her head,
Hues of violets and blues.
