I weave daisies
Into garlands and wreaths-
Cottagecore fantasies-
Where toil appears easy,
And tempests breezy,
Where sour fruits are glazed in honey.
My fingers claw
At the garlands they birth
Till petals fall
And blend seamlessly into the dirt.

They blend seamlessly into the dirt,
Like brown tatters on the ground.
The sun's sinking into the earth,
As winter's coming around,
The weather's not the good kind.
This winter is not kind.

My garlands, they resign
From the world of florid illusions.
My garlands, they say their goodbyes,
Until next time, perhaps the next season. 

Shifa