poem

A poem for Sunday

Blossoms bloom.
Petals unfurl towards sunlight.
I rarely notice until
they are almost gone.

Sometimes, I find the blooms
sailing down to the water,
floating and then washed away.

Everything right in the world,
because temporary blossoms
keep coming back.
Their demise
brings fruit and that fruit
brings more blossoms—
years passing into lifetimes.

Blossoms floating in water

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