White Nightingales Poem by Mark Heathcote

Those petals fall like separated white wings
and this is the way we also shall fall
gradually losing altitude - our slings
have carried us thus far, and each sepal-
crimsons like a withering chalice, a flame
is-aged-like the rosehip sliced wide open.
We recall our flush near almost the same
a budding white rose newly awoken.
Such youth in bloom were we also when
with a nightingale - birdsong - invest.
We built our futures and feathered our nests.
But slowly, our petals succumb and fall - amen.