Poem: But We Know

yello wildflowers

But We Know

Yellow flowers in the quarry.
Light and airy, fronds lightly pirouetting in the wind,
the stuff of Hallmark cards
or romantic movies, beautiful, bright,
full of promise.

But we know what happens.
Fall comes and the petals fall,
one by one to the grey stone
and blow away, brown, dead,
The green fronds lose their elegance,
become dark and stalky,
shivering in the cold fall.

But we know what happens.
Winter comes. Snow. Ice.
A brutality of cold.
A covering cold.
All evidence of life flees underground.
and imagination fades,
the memory of yellow fades
into a monochromatic photograph.

But we know what happens.
The seasons change. They always do
for those with the patience to wait.
Snow and ice melt. Streams run wild with glee.
The sun finds its warmth.
Seeds stretch their young arms,
peek above the soil and stone
and then, in a frenzy of growth,
God’s design to outsmart the short season
blossom again. Wave at passers-by.
Live as if life was all there is.

But we know what happens.

About this poem

We do know what will happen. There are few secrets. Life has its cycles. Simple. Painful. Wonderful. Repeat.

Patience is not just a virtue, it’s required.


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