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?
ah, the passage of youth
ReplyDeleteJust another crossroad on the road to summer. I always enjoy your nature poems as well.
ReplyDeleteShirl
yes oz, nuff said
ReplyDeletehi shirl, thanks!