A Tale of Preserving Innocence

In a lively meadow surrounded by a forest,
a red flower bloomed silently
within the field of blue,
a secret blossoming in its lonesome
hardly to be noticed by vagrants
who walked and pondered,
and couples that skipped and danced
across the plains stained with
Love and perhaps Innocence.

Autumn's touch of decay
turned the once thriving meadow into blight;
the curled dark, red petals,
fell onto the soft, brown dirt,
only to be whisked upward by a gust of cruel wind
up above the grey skies
that foreshadowed inevitability.

The snow came whispering down soon after,
the quiet song of passing,
and the withered petals fluttered and descended almost coincidentally
to mark where the white blanket fell.

When Spring came, life manifested itself again in the meadow;

though the red flower recovered little.
Rain fell like tears from a child who realized the concept of life too early
washing away the reality of said flower.
When that time came, the red flower knelt and bowed down
pelted by divine sympathy
like unwelcome persistent pity,
its will split by God's sarcastic wit;
since when did freewill coexist with Fate?

A child passed by and noticed this flower one day;
she picked it up, but it was too late.
The once tender, velvet-like softness,
now crisp with brittle sorrow,
disintegrated with her slightest touch,
and what was left of that flower
were the remains of a truth
buried by time.

Dear mother,
give her tears a safe haven,
so they don't fall between the crack of fears.
Tell her the lie that all is told;
don't ever let her linger upon
what she realized
when life slipped from her fingers
so easily and with haste.
Let Death be a lie,
so she's rendered immortal,
never to worry about Things she doesn't have to understand
until she has to.