They had once been in their prime
Now littered across the newborn grass
Remnants of flowers, which had once been
Vivacious. Pink candour.
Of those that bloom, they're on top
No worries, swaying to the gentle jazz

With a gust of wind flies off a blossom
Sails through the wind like a blazing ship
The candour vivid, its last time ever
Lost in the moment of the infinite music
Until it hits the ground.

Rumpled, crumpled. Oh narcissistic irony
Those on top still lost,
The hypnosis of that fast life.
It slowly sinks through the blades.
They run deeper and deeper until it's
Limp.

Serendipitously someone comes along
Little Lucy perhaps
Pulls the ancient thing out of its pain and says
"Ah. It's beautiful."