rose-golden
grow the tree seedlings of spring
little whirling's as they go falling
to the ground
as they are separating
we capture them in our small hands
then toss them into the wind
off the balcony
watch as they rise
and fly off over tall buildings
not knowing where or how far
they might go
it is a magic
we tell ourselves
we don't quite understand
but would like to know
this is flight
this is life
all the changing...
*********
LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM
May 26, 2019// 10:38 am PST TIME/DATE STAMPED
AND ALSO FOR THIS WRITER MELISSA A. HOWELLS
AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED SITE TITLE
MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD
