Poetry

Dew drying
Golden eye spies its prey
Bumbling, i pass her
For, who else, but i
Would spot her, so delicate
Swaying in the breeze
A lone ranger sprouting
To absorb her own death
Rays lick her soft fingers
For, such is love
Kisses curl her into a smile
Browning fringes tuck
She is gone
Bumbling away, i fly
For, who else, but i
Could remember so clearly