Petals are scattered across the grass
From yesterday's child's play,
Like white confetti beneath the bushes
Icebergs bloomed in May.
This was no wedding that took place
Between brother, sister, or dolls.
No, these are the remnants left behind
When fury seized the smalls.
I do no understand their thoughts
When petals they plucked off.
Perhaps they thought they'd harm each other
By throwing petals aloft.
They were not mad at me you see,
For which they did this deed;
But at each other for some odd cause,
Perhaps some unmet need.
"I am the king," one might've said,
Or so one supposes.
"Oh no, you're not!" the other replied.
Thus began the War of Roses.
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