The trees weep leaves
In mourning for the passing season.
Yellowing pages from their summer scrapbook
gather at their feet like memories
In mourning for the passing season.
Yellowing pages from their summer scrapbook
gather at their feet like memories
And scatter before the wind.
Like the spring petals, born to die
But in that dying, giving birth
To something new, something beautiful
That cannot be without that willingness
To release what was, and grasp what can be.
I like your poetry and your photos...both very nice. Do you have more of your writing interspersed here? I find it hard to find quality poetry like yours.
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure how to do the inter-connection thing, but you might be interested in checking out two of my sites here:
for art:
http://twinmesas.blogspot.com
for Poetry and other literary works:
http://arroyos-seco.blogspot.com
Clyde
Love your mix of poetry, writing & photography, very well done Ariana.
ReplyDelete