The aroma of leaves burst with life,
Mixed in the scent a life deprived.
It is late March, the beginning of all,
With no-one's notice some blossoms fall -
Reluctantly, their final seduction:
At the time of birth comes their destruction;
Others rest, still with grace,
Oblivious to the dead ones' pace.

Walking past, I am amazed,
When was it that life was raised?
I am certain yesterday, when I rode by
The trees were bare. I wonder why
First traces of beauty never enter our eyes
Until they become indifference's sacrifice.
So I stop, stare, sigh under my breath,
Kiss their last scent in defiance of death.

"The time has come," I hear you say,
"It is the end, it ends today."
The sweetness of your love's still here,
The warmth of your lips still on my ear.
Your love is gone before it lived,
Mine made redundant before I could give.
Now I have come to see,
The fallen petals no longer see me.

The others rest, still with grace,
To me their fragrance is commonplace.
They've not my sorrow, nor my heart -
Darling I'm sorry, why must we part?
All is too late, none has begun;
I cannot understand what we have done.
I think I'll stay, and stand awhile,
Gather these pieces, make a pile.