I saw the blossom fall
and in the sadness of
it all
was born a new beauty
on the pathway -
a soft carpet of pink petals
for tiny feet to feel.
Stooping to pick up one,
to touch,
I understood the sweet,
limp sadness
of impending, inescapable,
Bright pink, pretty blossom
to an eventual
earthy film,
so ethereal as to be
molecules blending
back to earth.
And they call this



© Griffonner 2022

Poetry by Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 145 times
Written on 2022-11-03 at 13:04

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Sean Ryan Bjerremand
A beautiful poem. I like it very much.

D G Moody
A profound insight Allen. Who dies? If we accept that there was never a 'self' then it is only transience from the personal to the impersonal.

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
A fine meditation, Allen. Personally, I see no distinction between the "living" and the "dead."

arquious The PoetBay support member heart!
And then it cycles over again. Strange how their timing is different to ours.