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A morning in magenta, the petals fed from the dew.
She held her breath for a moment, to pause off the stream.
Still clinging to vast, old memories.
And I would marvel at her beauty, playing through the rain.
The coffin is beautifully engraved.
Stained by soil, symbols of death.
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All of which are stared upon, with porcelain eyes it seems.
Some spoke, and it was my turn to go.
In death entwined, I could not believe.
But it hangs around my neck.
A soft breeze passed me by, somewhat warmer for a second.
I knew it was the coming of spring, thus our APRIL ETHEREAL.
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