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Daisies and roses sprout sporadically;
Rosie purrs as the day unfolds,
as the flags of freedom bristle in a whisper above;
a voice of calm settles over
the grass, the clouds, the cement,
and we think the wind is hustling busily,
but really she’s just dancing about the courtyard
to the tune of the afternoon of March, April, and May,
in steps that fashion her light and gay.

Spring’s voice turns to Summer’s kiss
of Life;
and Autumn’s song falls to Winter’s breath
of Death.
The forget-me-nots rejoice in a chorus, singing:
Don’t forget that Life waits ‘round the corner.
Don’t forget that Death is your dear friend.
Don’t be a mourner for what’s lost in the end,
For all shall soon begin again.

We turn back home,
the Sun gently grazing our white skin,
“Life is wonderful” tattooed on the doorstep of our hearts.
So we will never forget.

Brinn W.