Too Slow

Photo by Mauricio Artieda on Unsplash

Soft petals fall,

On the ground, too slow.

Who am I, but a distant eye,

Bitterly waiting, on the black crow,

Anxiously eyeing that woody stem,

As stormy winds draw near and wreak mayhem.

‘Too slow,’ I say,

The girl on the hill.

The lady behind glass.

Wet cheeks pressed against a shattered window sill.

-N.B.