In a dark room at the top of the hill
Last summer flowers brought in from the chill
She placed them just so in a vase of pure white
In hopes they would last through a few more hard nights

With daffodils yellow and daisies bright red
Warming the nightstand beside her cold bed
There in the gloom on colorful display
Two petals had wilted much to her dismay

Stroking the softness of each fallen frond
Knowing to stem they could no longer bond
She watched one more petal float down to the floor
A tear slowly fell as she then plucked three more

Plucking the petals in lost reverie
“He loves me not but does he love me”
One for the moments they shared in delight
Two for the secrets revealed in the night

Three for the dreams and the wishes so pure
Four for reality’s hardened, cold cure
Five petals lost for the time they were wed
Six fell like tears to alight on her bed

Seven plucked petals to remind of his song
And then, just like him, all the petals were gone
There in a dark room at the top of the hill
Blown petals returned into winter’s cold chill