Blossom Trees

There is nothing to do but sit beneath

the blossom trees

and write poetry in these silent days

yet, as I write,

my words are obscured by falling

petals, fluttering to earth

like the wings of some silent, unseen butterfly -

Broken Wings

But still, Dear Petals, I thank you for

your motion

for it somehow makes me feel I’m alive

for as I live and breath

I must be alive, surely, even though

There is nothing to do but sit beneath the blossom trees.

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