Elizabeth Shield - The Aftermath

To while away the waning hours
beneath the scarlet, sunlit leaves
Now or never, say the flowers
they are dying as you grieve

the wind will pick their ashen petals
and fling them upwards, to the sky
to be brought back by icy showers
as the heavens start to cry

when the silky, sunlit sadness
slips, slowly from your folded frame
rise and brush off all your regrets
you'll play the game another day

Elizabeth Shield

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-aftermath-19/