I could not find my golden locket
so i reached into my pocket
but I felt no metal smooth and cold,
but a living breathing marigold.
Some petals had sadly fallen astray
and on the ground they sadly lay,
the tint of the sun's luscious locks
at the highest point of the equinox.
I picked up every last lost petal
and placed it on my golden medal,
and thus it stayed a perfect flower
but only so, a fleeting hour
For then a faint breeze stirred
the East wind's sigh went not unheard,
and the rays of my sunstar
were scattered much too far,
for me to have hope of gathering them,
the citrine gold off my diadem.
-Pamplemousse
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