April 5, 2021
I have spent many hours
Thinking about the flowers
And how as ephemera, they capture the imagination.
A metaphor for the transience of life,
A reminder amidst all the strife,
That our own art is just a crude evocation.
For nature has already done it best,
I say so, that is, unless,
There is something more beautiful than this blossom.
I think of children and their laughter,
Of love amidst disaster,
And understand how those are awesome.
But look again at all these petals,
Filling the tree like ripples from a pebble
So fleeting, not unlike our youth
In this life we are but tourists
And we must live life to its fullest
For the blink of our life is the hard truth.