Wind from the hills moves down,
moving across fields of colour.
Waves of the sea move through
the spring blossoming flowers –
moving, swaying, blooming.
A melody plays on the wind,
a song from the many birds.
Whispers of so many scents
dance in a poem on the wind –
melody, music, movement.
in the autumn wind
fluffy pink flowers blossom
from hidden places
under the soil.
you lay under the soil surrounded by the sounds of insects moving and water soaking into the soil.
under the soil, there is a wooden box.
you lay in the wooden box with roses that once blossomed and bloomed, yet now lay in petrified pieces upon your chest.
under the soil alone
you remain perfect in your chest of what once bloomed so beautiful and bright.
under the soil your blossom and bone.
you remain silent and still as the stars and the moon sing their song to you.