Those Pink Delicate Flowers
I look at them
And I look at them back again
With tenderness
And smile
I want to touch them
Put close to my cheek and smell
But I don’t
They are not mine.
Still
I wonder what they do
When the thunderstorm goes bananas
When the frost gives them the cold shoulder
I get worried
What will they do?
How will the delicate sweet hearts
Take it.
But they do
Better than me
The hails, the winds
The snow and all
Brush aside the transient terror
And smile
Like as if
They have seen it all
Done it all
Again and again
In the land of flurries and furies.
Called life.
((*.*))
April 17, 2002
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