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This tree has lost most flowers,
on my driveway blacktop fallen,
I mistook them for pale impediments,
time brushed these delicacies away.

Was it spring rain, dampness, footseps,
or a burden the limbs would not bear,
yesterdays' tomorrows crushed, ignored,
mementoes, scattered obliterations,
specks now, particles unseen in the air.

If the seasons were extended,
if beauty never died,
if love and life were immortal,
what would we espy?

Crowded, turned to lushness,
reasons change... here one moment,
filled with growth,even pain.

Brevity, holding on to memories:
Years, hours, minutes, seconds...
don't decry, or mourn too long,
players on or off the stage.

April 2002

Author: Roy Schoenberg - Bay Shore, New York, USA

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