It's all just crushed stars and sunflowers, floating,

The sound of a spring being wound, echoing,

Riding waves of damp earth, dew-crested grass,

Barefoot children running empty-handed across

Stretches of soil freshly overturned, burning,

The heat swirls upward in columns of smoke, twirling,

Beating drums vibrate the air with sound, shimmering,

Tall stalks of corn and wheat wander, en masse;

It's all just crushed stars and sunflowers.

A dark blanket of sky settles overhead, needles poking,

Holes in the cloth to let in light, stars shining,

Slowly dropping seedlings of night into bottles of glass,

To place upon sills, settling the room aglow; shadows emboss

The walls, decorated with gold petals and stardust, flickering;

It's all just crushed stars and sunflowers.

(A/N: First attempt at a rondeau.)