by Trish Cozart
A petal in a puddle
gently turning round and round
an oasis for thy final days
a peaceful grave upon the ground.
The wind breathes upon you
and you try to float way
but you find your boundary much too small
and fear that you must stay.
Those that see you marvel
at the beauty of your sight
sparkling water under a tender shawl
they do not realize your plight.
But fear not, your dying is not for loss
your sweetness remains, however subtle
you are the hope of every Spring
you are a petal in a puddle.