Muted crimson tap-tapping when petals meet stone,
a quiet nod to time’s relentless tread.
Perpetual change, the ever-present flow
of life and death, time and distance.
Pain, a companion best met in the now,
not deferred to a future just beyond reach.
Gentle farewells and riversongs soft,
cross lips edged with faint half-smiles,
while cheeks marked by fugitive tears
begin their soft embrace of acceptance.
Thank you so much, Lia! Not many cherry trees in this area, but our native species are indeed budding. And the bluebonnets and other wildflowers are blooming. This is definitely my favorite time of year in the Texas hill country.
This poem was actually inspired by flowers, though not the wild variety. Someone had placed a vase of roses on a headstone in a cemetery that I passed on my morning run yesterday. The petals were falling off and were scattered across the stone, the deep red contrasting nicely against the light colored stone.
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