Soft blooms pucker
Their lips, caressing the shying winds
Those seductive moves, swaying —
Is it possible that Nature has sinned?
Children pretend at praying.
Cast off? In the corner, carefully placed.
They have no use any more —
Their punishment for something; a disgraced
Memory. Mind numb, now sore.
The toys are mute,
White tiger and scruffy, post-loved rabbit.
There is no-one to talk to —
The happy past; abrupt, had once said it.
Now there's nothing left to do.
That empty chair
Once painted, flakes now. A sad monument
To dinner stains — mom's defeat.
What was the point? Inside it's a torment,
Outside blossoms kiss this seat.
Happy winds whistle.
Old beads move with the rain, rattle sometimes,
Little fingers played, pulled, turned
While listening to made-up nursery rhymes.
Memory be damned — played and burned!