…on the wind

Petals fall, diaphanous, as white as new laid snow
drifting on the breeze, bleeding brightly
melting red and softly pearlescent pink
the cherry tree stands bereft
her branches darkly reaching, splayed across the sky
beseeching she weeps, her fragrant tears
drowning in the shadows, such a gentle loss
an undefined grief, an unspoken sorrow
cycles repeating, the seasons turn relentlessly
petals fade into the dirt, crushed underfoot
yet ever transient
their perfume still lingers upon the wind
© Ann Bagnall
2016