Found on the outskirts of you,
A new being began.
Born from the puddles of summer rain;
Constructed from the petals of May flowers;
Lost in a season not of its own kind
But of a colder climate that strips beauty
By the roots and plucks petals placed on eyelids
Like coins for Charon on a cold winter day.
This deification of displaced days
Is lost in the blur of a summer breeze
Caught in the heart of a winter waiting on change.
But without a place to lay their heads
The tulips bow under the weight of a season
Celebrated too soon.