We fell like flowers to the ground,
Shaken free and broken down.
Some remained, to the branches bound,
A few fluttered in the wind.
Some, though the desert does surround,
Blossom in hues rich and bright.
Lost in flow of time, few are found,
Tied with string in dry bouquets.
Some plucked and in a mortar pound,
Their fragrant death bottled and sold.
Brides we delight, kings we've crowned,
Or lie in wreaths for the dead.
We are everywhere, all around,
Whatever the circumstance.
We, the dreams, like flowers abound,
Bloom or fall, are plucked or crushed,
And sometimes, fade without a sound.

Day 17 -  A Nonce

"Nonce forms are essentially poetic forms created by poets for one-time use. For instance, I spent one summer writing poems with the following form rules: six syllables in the title of the poem and ten syllables per line in the poem itself. This isn't a traditional form; it's one I made up for one summer (and it produced a lot of poems that ended up taking very different forms through the revision process).

If I wanted to, I could create a nonce form right here on the spot. Write a poem with 17 lines, the odd lines rhyme, even lines do not, the odd lines are 6 syllables, and the even lines are 5. Also, indent the even lines. This form doesn't currently exist, but if I wrote a poem using it, I would be using a nonce form."

~Robert Lee Brewer on Poetic Asides (www.writersdigest.com)~

Too much of a coincidence - Day seventeen and he talks about a seventeen line poem, so I too it to be the wish of the universe. One change - my poem has eight syllables for the odd lines and seven for the even lines.