On the path down,
she paused at the stone
gates and saw
a story like hers
carved there:
the child Persephone,
fleeing the dark god,
stumbles.
Her head’s
thrown back, its sunburst
of curls – a golden
chrysanthemum
snapped from its stalk.
Even as she falls
a crack appears
beneath her feet.
The moral’s clear:
a mortal’s a blossom
the earth opens for.