First: red
A soft, silken coin
Pressed to the lips
Clenched in the fist
Your private treasure
Found fallen
No less precious for that

Then: white
Like a feather
Dropped in flight
Stolen
Reclaimed
Cast into a puddle
Crushed by playground hands

Found: Pink
Perfect, pristine petal
An offered consolation
Lost in your tailwinds
How could I forget?
The petals we are given
Pale next to those we find

Photo by A.C. Smith

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *