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 Iām 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.
ā¬Ā„
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