When the first bloom withers and falls to the ground,
Nature sighs. There will be others
But the first bloom is special.
Should the frost sweep in early
Bleakness shrouds the land,
A chill stabbing the heart.
At the foot of a barren tree
The tiny bloom lies alone
On cold, hard ground—
A testament to what once was
And now is no more.
This is lovely and extremely powerful but very very sad
I concur.
Please tell me it's not an omen and message in disguise.
Never met you in-world, but feel like a friend.
Use my email if you like.
:)