Silkened smooth to ones touch 

Careful not to let the frigid hands disturb

Imprints of life as the dew drops

Each cascading down the very last crease

It begins a new line a new form either life or decay

What you make of the subtle drops

You can only catch in the hands

Time it is what can make a difference

From the time it drops to the time the petal retracts

Only to find that there is nothing in between