Deadfall

dults we stand for time has passed us by our childish ways have bloomed into a blight the roots we set, now gnarled, so pained decry, the visages of springtime love's delight. Upon foul winds you've flown, you've left a thief without the strength to be forthright. A fallen limb, a rotting bough bereft, am I to lay alone, as winter comes, as you bloom again within a riper cleft? Is this your wish, and how your pledge succumbs? Never had I dreamed I'd be so harshly left for a younger bloom with naught but dried crumbs. By sins of the flesh, we've been undone. I will not forgive what you've become.