NaPoWriMo - day #14

A funeral for a flower
picked gently off the ground,
fallen bellow fellow congregants
of pink blossomed branches
who all have the privilege of growing
old -- to find their natural end
in a way that it no longer can

I stand with selfishness and wonder
under a bright blue sky and ask 
What is inside, what is underneath?
Something tells me you have answers
to the questions I've been trying to ask

So in an act of holy depravity 
I rip it open, a pyre made of petals 
soft white and sweet scent -- an unraveling
of splanchnic spring time glory
and I find my greatest fear turned real 

Because what is worse than mourning
what never had the chance to become 
is seeing that it had been there all along
and saying goodbye to a season cut short