Metamorphosis
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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
Thoughtful and wonderful poem.
You can certainly see your writing skills in your work. All the time go after your heart.
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