The Flower

A poem about a cycle.

To the buds that grew
To the sky that's blue
And the birds that came
To sing for us anew

To the sun burning hot
On the woody logs
With no cloud in sight
Said it'd be alright

To the leaves falling down
On the lowest ground
Turned my head around
But left without a sound

To the white from the sky
But it didn't feel high
Fell to the earth
But I wasn't heard

Again and again
Where has my mind been?
Snapped out of focus
Until it begins