Fragile beauty

Caught in the garden,

Flickerings of ruby red

Tenderly unraveling

From garlands of green

Amid a day

Named ordinary.

It is the fairest pleasure,

The simplest suggestion of perfection,

Nature unearthing itself

Onto the world

And yet

It is the easiest

To crush-

A cry of crimson

Carelessly caught

In the chaos

Of our calloused hands.

We are the blossom

Of our dull days

And are no more

Imperishable,

Unbreakable,

Immortal

Than a rose

Risen one day

To be clipped the next,

Never knowing

How a season can be

But a minute,

A year

But an hour,

A lifetime

But a day.

We hold the beauty

In our fragile fingers,

Careful we must be

How tightly

We clutch our lives,

For only in our hands

Can we shape it,

Share it

And ensure

It survives.