Purple-blue light up the sky,
Of flowers blossoming, I dry,
falling flowers fall beneath,
a past seen as the bay wreath
The magnum opal of trees,
The jacaranda, with ease,
Can say its beauty,
Falls to the cool breeze
Only the evergreen grass,
Can feel the sharp glass,
That was shattered,
When gravity took its heart
bewildered and broken
Banned and unspoken
It beseeches once again,
"When will I blossom again?"
