Tulips spring
From the morbid earth,
Their leaves fleshy and green.
One by one,
Their petals splay,
Tender to smell
And to touch.
And all the while
The sun rises
On weepy skies
And wind-choked streets.
Brown and decrepit,
The grass lies low,
As bulbs beyond count
Slumber in ground below. Alone,
The tulips stand
Like blushing gems
In a grey, desolate world. Alone,
They wait for their friends
To wake as they bend
And break under chilly storms.
Gentle beauties
Bloomed before their time.
He Who Wanders 