Withering Larkspur

Sometimes I walk and wonder
as raindrops pond the way.
Why some leaves fare the thunder
while others fly away?

A few may grace the Heather's,
downwind in back of them,
the fallen, like men, weather
beneath their loving stem.

But when I see our Willow
I smile and never weep.
The tears I cede to pillows;
to crying in a sleep.

Sometimes I walk and wonder
how Spring returns to Fall,
the gems I'm stepping under
once stood so proud so tall.

We lost our way that summer
when verdant all did seem,
when love beat like a drummer
the thunder and the dream.

What happened to the fragrant
young flowers we once were?
We wandered wild two vagrant
old withering Larkspur.

Beautiful poem, manjoy.

Thanks so much Topaz. Pleased you liked it.