yet again, the season changes.
winter dies, spring is reborn.
worms crawl out for sun.
birds return for seed.
grass grows green.
flowers bloom.
people smile.
the cycle repeats, ad infinitum.
ink on pages lasts longer than
the candle I was born holding—
help me savor things that matter
most before they’re gone forever—
the worn maps of memory…
the tired paths once walked…
the changing landscapes of cities…
the greying oceans of dissipating time…
all this, and everything between,
carefully scratched into poems,
will be what remains of me.
