rednax20

Cultivation | January 17, 2017

Gazing past the winter
you can smell more than roses,
more than fresh-turned soil.

Search for glimpses
in Nature’s hideaways
of last year’s lost moments.

Leaves, unswept on your path,
a source of unfortunate worms
for Spring-hungry birds.

Sometimes we grow so much
that simple pleasures
escape our sophisticated minds.

This grave is for a wealthy man,
just look at the beautiful marble
hiding his destitution.

We each rise from our own Spring
hoping forth brightly
where joy waits in a far field.

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