Nothing really lasts

like fall’s maple red

People once close

like daisies and sunshine

Seem to grow apart

like first and last chapters


Are we so fickle

so quick to judge

Are we just growing

up past the weeds


Nothing is fair

like frost on white tulips

So little makes sense

like broken-winged birds

There’s just moving on

like spring’s fresh wind



– – –

Photo: Plum Blossoms, c.b.w. 2015

Words: free-verse, c.b.w. 2016