The petals fell from off the branch,
I caught them falling as by chance,
And saw them land within my hand,
No one but me could understand.

The beauty of the flowering petals,
Were soft and silky unlike metal,
And colors bright had faded so,
Was I the last to truly know?

Then cast the withering petals down,
Upon the damp and hardened ground,
And walked upon them with callous thought,
For faded beauty so long gone bought.

But comes tomorrow another day,
Where beauty comes in how it may,
And more and more the petals show,
That I am really the first to know.