Yellow and white,
deep ultraviolet.
Wind tossed around,
carried in a fragile hand.
The outskirts lined with beauty,
the middle a land of decay.
Walking through land that
seen childhood play.
Shaky hand reaching to pluck
the ones that scream yuck.
He loves me,
he loves me not.
Until reach the ovule,
try to tear but would not budge.
Maybe grandmother will heal
with undying love.