Crushed petals line a dusty road/
their/
fragrance swirls in windstorms/
ephemerally/
life goes on/
cars drive past, rapidly/
catching only distorted glimpses of her pain/
and the stains/
left behind/
where her heart was trampled underfoot/
and laid/
in a perfumed field of blossoms/
a beautifully aromatic grave
Blessings,
Christine
asa
Peace, love and blessings,
John Michael
Ron
Deborah