The garden, and the merry making

It was all human; till
they could not resist
The sweet fragrance
Emanating from the wreath
Placed on the scented coffin.
All the corpse bearer, and the trailing feet
Turned to butterfly.
Sensing the flapping sound, and
Piloting of the soft touch
The dead rose out of the box
Giving a petal smile
to its colourful brethren –
The garden, and the merry making

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