Childhood sits in meadow bower,

pulling petals from a flower –

Love me not, or love me well,

only days to come will tell.

Time moves on, and hope blooms bright,

but girlish dreams will die this night.

*

Maiden rests in meadow green,

pulling petals from their sheen;

dying, petals lose their bloom

as tears soak bridal glory’s tomb.

Time moves on, and hope fades fast,

the die is set, her fate is cast.

*

Mother sinks in meadow shade,

pulling petals in the glade;

habit tells her love belongs

to children and their hopeful songs.

Time moves on, and hope lies dead,

daisies, fringeless, sink like lead.

*

Woman weeps in meadow bare,

pulling petals which aren’t there;

empty heart bleeds petals past,

and bleeding, seeds its peace at last.

Time moves on, and hope renews,

as Wounded hands hold girl’s deep bruise.