could i call this a world if it weren’t for you

every stalk of rose could bathe blood-red
and yet dance nothing like a bouquet of garden daisies;
beautiful in their symphony.

a single fallen leaf could be tugged by the fingers of wind
but not herald autumn like a sunset twirl
of dried up paper hearts.

as one snowflake couldn’t shiver the trees naked
and like drops on my windowpane,
tears from the clouds which by themselves couldn’t cry rain
we weren’t really alone.