melancholy poem poems poetry seasons

The eternal transcience


Little petal’s white on the grass
a stain in time.
They have been thrown – simply to pass

Noble peacock’s call in the grove
a plea in haste.
They have been reared – only to rove

Tender lamb’s black on the green
a flash in life.
They have been bred – plainly to wean

Gentle mother’s tears on the face
a cry in gloom.
They have been sent – purely to brace

Greater grief will lapse in season
but leave a trace.
They have been cast  – surely with reason


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