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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5i9HraTYzyM&ab_channel=SineadO%27Connor-Topic

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I

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It was not the kind of severance

That could be precipitated by

The cutting of a cord -

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There was no violent end,

Implosion or pressure, no

Discharge or detonation.

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II

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It was the kind 

That wilted, that fell away 

As the moldering petals of

A flower, that had bloomed -

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Full well, designed to die.

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III

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It was a burning fire, a blaze,

An alpine meadow

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Beset by color: by the nuanced

Eruptions of blue and silk,

Of violet and crimson, of heather,

Daisies and dandelions, 

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Lupine, aster. 

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VI

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But like all meadows -

All those that sprang up

Out of the mountain crags, from

Between glacial teeth, from

The lichen pocked and cloud touched

Edges, cresting below the Empyrean -

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V

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When the time came, for it to die, 

It did … and the colors as before

The changing of the seasons,

Faded. Lo, as if their wane

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Had already been

Quietly predetermined.

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