A poem is a fruit
you grow from seed.

You give it everything
you think it needs,

but you don't know
how long it will take

to ripen, or if it will.
You are ashamed of all

the things you took,
or took for granted.

You want to know how
to make it up, to make

it better. The fruit
is patient. You are

no gardener after all. And
the leaves that fall off

exude such fragrance,
even when crushed.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.