Saturday morning,not even the a single bird sings its acapella.
the buttercups seem to hang from their stem as if they submit to life.
from the looks of things the heads couldn't resist the rising cold
the water combined together as a collective. for warmth.

dead cover a corpse.
blood covered no wounds
tears dripping from their watery eyes, they feared not death but day,
because who they grieve today is the one source of shelter they've received.
the only form of love they've ever believed in. whipped away from the face
of the earth by the earth. you could see from their eyes this was the first time they'd been alone
even though the other times weren't happy too
unlike at this instance they knew what to do.

Years have passed. Now the city lights bright their eyes,
the motor vehicles exceed their cries. nobody to lay under
after a hasty teenage fight. they stuck together as a collective for warmth.
till the buttercups reclaimed their stems
the sunset refocused their aims.