Passage of Time

When the flower bows its head,
then all is lost.

Hold your horses, girl! That just means it’s naptime!
Remember Shakespeare–
Healing sleep knitting raveled sleeves of care?

The destruction of creation is complete
and the death stroke swift and sure.

Mercy, child! You really are too young
to be so sure of death’s gloaming.

Endings also mean new beginnings.
Hold tight to that hope. It will get you through.

When the flower bows down its head,
then joy has been overcome.

I think all that flower needs
is a wee bit of water and some sunshine.

Girl! I said water! Not whiskey.
Ah hindsight — must it always be 20/20?

The gladness of life has gone
for the flower cannot then face the sun.

There are gems emerging; rare and precious
moments filled with gladness;
take warmth and comfort
dear one, in that sun — a vision of grace and hope
an understanding that it shines on everyone
no matter if you hide your face.
Here. Just peek a bit
through the laced fingertips.
Your eyes will adjust, I swear.
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