O Geometry,
How I loathe the,
with thy prisms and proofs,
and thy figures and formulas,
and thy compasses and conjectures!
Why must thou require such mental strain?

        - Wait,
        What's that you say?
        Calculus next?

O my dearest Geometry,
How I adore thy common sense and logic-based nature!
How I dread the day when we shall be forced to part!

A solitary stalk of milkweed stands
ornamented with seed pods
most have long since burst
and sent their bounty fluttering on friendly fall breezes
But
one remains
half eaten by the elements
yet still crowded with seeds

Though the seasons have past
and the sun hints of spring
the winter wind still howls and taunts
"Come out, come out, come out if you dare"
but the reluctant seeds remain
huddled with their brethren
in the shelter of their cradle

Then comes a hand
a hand that cares about the butterflies
a hand that remembers warmer times
the fingers invade
and
  after
     a brief
       affectionate
          caress
pry the silky silver sails and their seeds out of their sanctuary
only
to release them
in the big
wide
world
where the fluffs float
buoyed by warm spring currents
finally
feeling
their full
Potential

Anxiety is a chartreuse bookmark
pressed between the pages of life
prominently protruding around the edges
yellow and green
sickly caught between past and future
beginning and end
But when the story resumes
the bookmark is cast away
forgotten as action ensues

Battered cattails stand
Defiant to wind and ice
Of incessant cold