Among hundreds of its kind,
It lies in peaceful stillness.
Head gazing towards the sun,
Arms stretched out to the warmth.
The booming thud of footsteps,
Breaks the morning tranquility.
It watches and waits, unable to escape
From the prison of its own form.
Blades close in around its neck,
A quick pinch and a breath of pain,
It’s dying, but not yet dead.
Left to watch its own body rot.
Others that have met the same fate,
Are gathered between nimble fingers.
Positioned with gentle care,
They lie lovingly placed together.
Out come the binding strings,
Ribbons of pink, red, and blue.
Satin flutters like butterflies,
So elegant, so colorful.
Yet quick to crush a tortured body
Against others of its own kind.
A vibrant array of glowing colors.
A mass of withering carcasses.
The fading green of slender shoots,
Is concealed in vibrant plastic wrap,
Allowing only pretty heads to peer out.
An ephemeral gift to a loved one.