Drop those petals, Leaving me to count them, Loosened from your eyes, Loosened from your cries, Extended by your sighs In a breeze as sweet as the seed That grows the next bud for your love That you will let wilt To leave the next trail. How has love been, to you? How has life left your heart, Little one? You are the martyr without the cross, Left to rot, without your nails That could pin your heart down upon the loss. What do the birds sing for, If not to seat themselves upon the eggs? Their beginnings, Their reaping Of new rewards Is as you, Is like you, The little robin upon the rooftop, The smallest queen, with the crowned top. You raise your scepter, You wield it well, to the next pledge, To say you won't ever edge Your weeping to the next funeral In its place, of its choosing.