Mourning the Child.
Fenn Delaurenti

A tulip stands alone in a meadow
Breathing deep the crisp clear air
The sun beams down,
It’s a comforting warmth.
An embrace from all sides,
Tight as muscle contracted from laughter.

The sky glistens a brilliant blue
As if a second set of arms were wrapped around it
Together loving it dearly.

A cold wind passes,
A shudder, an anxious spasm,
The breeze turns bitter,
Smothering the soft petals.

Snip

It falls

Splat