Breaking the caressing soil that had so long held it, cradled it, provided for it.
Rising from the mother's nest with a harlequin tendril.
Sky, and the world is blue, and the earth is spinning, the earth in which it had been raised, the earth that it is rising from.
Sky, touching purple, pushing petals, blowing byzantium and kissing chartreuse.
Sky, and only it saw—
Chocolate tinges on fingertips and tall green bending to the wind and submission to the forces of the earth that brought it up.
Only it saw—
The final fall of the flower, into the earth, into the earth in which it was born.
And the world was blue.
Song of the Sky