Idle talk and sullen hands and eyes askance at roses--
Nothing more plus something less makes zero, one supposes.
Dust to dust and flowers, well, the flowers dried to parchment
Scribed with future's promises -- in blood, then thrice discarded.
Once was for my labours tilling soil and shaping branches,
Another for the petals growing shells and shields and lances.
Third is wonders yet to come, beyond that yawns a darkness.
But death's concern is transient. We all must live, regardless.
This is a study in 14-syllable lines - dubbed 'fourteeners' (can't imagine why), they aren't very common now but were very popular in the Elizabethan era and I personally think they're all class. Provide a strong meter to draw the eye along (this one uses trochees) and they are lyrical, reflective and quite lively as they skip their way across the page.