The Fall of Peonies

Who counts the fall of petals,
trails their pilgrimage downstream
into obscurity and oblivion?

Who shudders when tight buds,
cradling sweet promises of secret fragrance,
are plundered by the chill of sudden spring frosts:
trickling flow of life blood arrested
till whispers of blush are crystallised for eternity?

Who pities when blossoms are buffeted,
ravished by March gales,
pillaged by April cloudbursts?
Gone all hope of becoming,
robbed all vision of blooming,
like mists of early solstice dreams
lifted and fading with the
first kiss of dawn's rays
upon a damp, black earth.