Metaphorical Raindrops

Yesterday, sociable sun embellished, desires of my poetic garden heart. Spreading sweet scents of serenity, elegantly and enchantly, echoing, vivid visions from my vibrant vocabulary, but, such is the nature of the muse, without refreshment, it's petal like mood cried for raindrops of ink to nourish and flourish its sensitive sleeping seeds, shielded by my soul. But, howling winds arrived with bitter rain. Their rapid rage of gusts so forceful, fumed furiously at my simple words. Hysterical and bloodthirsty, their wrath devoured my delicate artistry, all day and throughout the night - for the first time, I felt empathy for the moon. The morning after, I awoke to find my flower garden resembling Greek ruins. My cherry blossom tree is now bare, her pink buds floating in depthless puddles. Tulips are headless, with their perished petals, laying lifeless along my purple slate path, as rose bushes slump, arching and aching from brutal blows. Unsociable sun did not appear today, maybe too afraid, maybe too shy. In my state of despair, I wonder; Is there beauty, in such a tragedy? Is there hope in such an unfair travesty? But raindrops keep pouring, physically, emotionally and metaphorically.