A Budding Rose
If only I could back time,
When I was young, sexy, and selfish,
Living like Spring, rising at dawn,
Entirely into myself, like a budding rose.
Now, I looked a little broken, like a winter twig,
my shoulders and hands unpredictable, ready
to take flight, my head bowed in reverence
by heavy teardrops, with my soul crying out
for permanence when there is none.
“We are by nature observers, and thereby learners.
That is our permanent state.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson