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I saw the blossom fall
and in the sadness of
it all
was born a new beauty
on the pathway -
a soft carpet of pink petals
for tiny feet to feel.
Stooping to pick up one,
to touch,
I understood the sweet,
limp sadness
of impending, inescapable,
metamorphosis:
Bright pink, pretty blossom
to an eventual
veiny
earthy film,
so ethereal as to be
unseen...
molecules blending
back to earth.
And they call this
death.



© Allen Ansell 2023