Bree

My friend,
like a blooming blossom blown away
from a withered worn out tree,
brazen, broken by the rain
and left me far from glee.
You've wandered farther from fair wounds
and braved the barren seas.
Yet still I wonder where you've gone
mon cher petit ami.
My ally
razed and raked for worse,
for all you never knew,
and left out lonely lest the lot
come crazing for the truth.
And still the rain brewed hard and hot
from winds that never ceased,
and tore my blossomed beauty from
my branches bare of leaves.

Disclaimer: "Mon cher petit ami" means "my dear little friend" (just to clear up any ambiguity).