quattuor flores
i will not let you rot
Four dry flowers.
One, proud and strong, whose time had come.
The second, poisoned by the cruel, harsh elements of the earth and sea.
Number three died of heartbreak.
My fourth, my love, you will make it. You have not left us to wither and decay.
You will make it because every organism around you depends upon your life force.
The trees bow down in quiet reverence
Every fox visits to behold your purity
Winged creatures land to rest in your peaceful sway
There is color in your petals
Dew on your skin
I will sing this raw symphony,
mend you back to life;
When you return, when you return
we will all breathe again.
