when I met my today.
A tomorrow may be
if my today gives
me up for adoption.
Summer just left
for a break;
Autumn’s here
for now.
Winter will soon
dress us in white;
Spring springs our
souls to blossom.
Who knows if they
had all conspired
to arrive the way
they do – just as
The ebb and
the flow of tides?
Maybe, the balance
of human-span hangs
on arrivals and departures
of Mother nature.
Who knows?
Maybe, the golden
fragments of times
and seasons spiral
like threads on looms
in the hands of a
master craftsman.
What is it in these
times and seasons?
Or in the renaming of
our days and moments?
« return.