As fallen blossoms paint the ground
beneath a windswept tree
the whiteness is at once profound
in shades of amnesty
and dancing limbs emit a sound
that whispers wistfully
lamenting how it once was crowned
but now must leave it be.
Are You Reading Me?
3 comments:
ah, the passage of youth
Just another crossroad on the road to summer. I always enjoy your nature poems as well.
Shirl
yes oz, nuff said
hi shirl, thanks!
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