Falling Petals

My fingers ran over the bark “A+K” nestled in a heart Wouldn’t you come with me, he asked, I cast a smile now an old scar The gentle breeze closes my eyes In the dusting of the springtime Sweet scented thoughts of yesterday Waft too often never to stay Winds settle and plums bloom no more The corpse of our carvings’ a stump The lady in white pinafore: "We should go back" - an innate grump The clinic is a sight weary None comes as close as “who was he?”