Change is coming,
I can feel it—
It is wandering through the air:
In the flutter of the trees
Clinging to the Earth
By their roots. Little do they know
A Storm awakens
Shivers within their soil—
their souls.

No, don’t be frightened, little one,
Change is our dearest friend—
It’s She who knows the ways of Life
Who will guide you to the end.

Don’t you see it too?
In the blossoming being,
The flowers of some sad, unacquainted corner:
Lilies of the Valley;
And atop the dead pond twinkling,
Crossing the River,
Lotus flowers—
Stars reflected in their expressionless eyes.

Oh, please do not cry, my baby,
They’re not just signs of death—
Shed not a tear to feed those fleurs
kindly nurtured by rain’s breath.

Don’t you hear it?
In the melodies sung
Blue birds regurgitating a tune,
Just as they do to feed their young:
A rhyme to teach their babes
Words to grow their wings,
Just as I speak you now this poem,
Love nested in every line.

Do not worry, my everything,
The jump’s worse than the fall—
Take the leap and look toward the sky,
Embracing the hope of it all.

Change is but a foreign force
Of Nature’s fierce brutality;
Feel it shivering within,
Watch her as She blossoms,
Hear it singing—listen….
Do not cry, nor quiver in doubtful fear,
For there’s little place to hide, my dear,
From Change’s yearly visit here.

Brinn W.

This poem was created and written by Brinn Wallin. Please do not steal or copy without permission. 
*All Rights Reserved*