A Blossom to the Wind


On a childís shoe
Iím carried in,
beneath a broom
Iím hurried out,
while fields moan
and hillsides
seek your favor.

If I ask you where
youíve been,
would you stop
to mourn my passing?

No, says the wind,
but before I go,
I will always
wish thee well.

Such will be my end:
the simple truth
and one last blessing.

March 22, 2006















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