A Rose Pedal Drifts

A rose pedal drifts in the wind,
And if the trees could talk,
They would lament the loss of this beautiful gem.

But the trees don't speak,
And in the stillness only the small pedal moves,
Moonlight glinting off of its grooves.

I scour the ground where that perfect pedal shown,
And in the silence I alone
Scream my defiance.