It is spring.
Budding leaves fill the trees;
Blossoms of delicate petals
Perfume the air
With the scent
Of promise.
Leaves unfurl,
She laughs, she loves,
She grows.
A woman in her summer.
Roots draw deep
To feed her heart;
Blossoms turn
To plump, ripe fruit.
Autumn comes
And the fruit falls from her boughs;
The green of youth
Turns to deep red
And autumn’s gold.
She must still rejoice
In her splendour.
For when winter comes
And the last leaves have gone,
Her memories will linger on.
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