Tears

I lay on my back
In the middle of a field,
The kind of place where
Flowers bloom
And butterflies flit
Here and there.
But the butterflies
Have flown away
And the flowers
Are dead and dry.
The heavy sky above me
Sheds its first tear,
Which mixes with mine.
Suddenly we are both
Sobbing,
And pink rain drips
Off my wrists
As my arms cry too.