The flower of her grief- Mari Gold

Heavy rain drops,
sound of gushing stream,
across her humble abode,
dawn is nigh yet distant,
she sigh.
Awaken by her woes,
daybreak surfaced,
the sun shone brighter then ever.
Past her window,
she glimpse the meadow turn gold.
‘Mari gold’ she yelps.

– Paradoxical humane