The petals fall upon the ground to lay
atop the grass and leaves beneath the tree
until the wind and rain wash them away.
Some float across the green so light and free
as though they have a special place to go,
and whisper ‘mong themselves where it might be.
A few won’t tell the others what they know,
how they will lay and wait to shed their seeds
and thus give birth to new ones that will grow
and push their blossoms high above the weeds
to catch the dewdrop’s kiss in early morn.
The sun and soil will furnish all their needs.
Then trumpet vines will blow their scarlet horn
in celebration of the newly born.
