Severed grace

The motion of a petal,
sweeping down to earth,
the subtle birl as it settles,
an undisclosed test of its worth.

Two violet tear-drops remain,
clinging on to life,
an abrupt gale draws at them in vain,          
achieving purchase after bitter strife.

Down they meander to join the precious third,
another bulb of energy bare of it's beauty,
alighting on a spine of grass unstirred.

A field of severed grace, downcast afore the storm,
relights itself together, no longer sundered into thirds.