White

I was the storm in your garden

That morning.

I was swift of birth, living with

My mother.

(I never met someone I could

Call my dad.)

I was there, and I did not mean

To scare you.

I was rude to your Tulips, which

You raised there,

I was aware you raised them so

Carefully.

But it wasn't on purpose, that

I came, no.

I was tearing the petals of

Your flowers,

I was restless, once I started

Reaping them.

I was hardly seeing your face,

How you cried.

I was obsessed with my own ones,

Falling rain,

I was giving to your garden

That morning.

I was a small white cloud once, you

Remember.