I learned
to plant the seeds
of happiness.
There are flowers
blooming
where the scars
used to be.

R.M.

And then she realised that
All stories die with the people who made them...

What a devastating truth to know that so many wonderful stories lie between the dust of had-been peoples.

meow

You loved.
You loved,
time and
time again.
But now,
it’s time to
love yourself.

The cyclic seasons give a cause in soul
to view the mortal realm in seasons gone
for winter was our start and is our end
yet ice will always melt with Spring to dawn.

So sweet the Lillie's scent when sun rays win
buds fissure out and eyes of Spring to see
that if undone, the birds of love would sin
as oaks with none a leaf, could call a tree.

Auroral orb sustains and mirrors youth
so raised with graceful red and set to dark
that autumn wings atone and age with truth
so brought by winds to ice and left their mark.

We are mere tourists; in a season's change
so forge and live this well, for none exchange.