The minutes
They keep flying, breezing past you
Leaving only a gentle rocking of leaves.

Whoooosh!

Do you even notice?
I’m not saying to keep count.
No.
I’m saying, Be aware.
They aren’t coming back.
They vanish as spring flowers do.
Way too many have raced past Ochito, way too many

But not anymore

He puts them in his pocket now and savors them like the tasty snack they are
The mighty ambrosia cannot compare and his palette is that much sweeter these days