Yellow

Starry woods i once strode

On an errand to Grandmother's.

Warmly clad and warmly clothed

On a chilly night one December.

Warm indeed was her welcome

And before i left she searched her little pocket.

A little attic always full of surprises,

She loosened her fist to reveal a silver locket.

As i strode back there was a heavenly air

With a taste of mist; a touch of winter. 

The flowers beside the lake chill and shiver,

Such ache filled my heart when i trampled over a pretty yellow flower!

Brittle as the yellow flower, brittle as a butterfly's wing

Is the life of a human being 

When happy days and singing of the sweet days of spring

Is overcome by the brutality of winter.