Wisps of color flirt with may,
Bestowing prismatic crowns to barren hilltops.
Running rampant, they are children
Spreading life to the remnants of death.
Like a fox they whisper to the leaves
Trotting rainbows on such bleak branches.
Mother smiles down on dawn,
Her love saturating the floral spirit.
Silken wonders woven in macabre intention,
The sun graces such an achromatic prison.
Innocence flies on naive wings -
Oblivious, for such eyes are blind to death.
The groaning of the hemlock echoes,
Once a hollow, now a home.
Eager to shed the dew, living feathers snicker,
Tickled by the touch of spring.
