Poem -
Jasmine
Like the remnants of the day,
parts of my life
find long shadows.
I grow old,
yet it is still
that I grow.
I find blossoms
amongst
leaves that whither.
Onward goes time,
painfully fast.
Faster as I realize
the speed at which
the light grows dim.
Yet turning my eye,
toward what's left
of the day,
I begin to discover,
all is still there.
Though the shadows take over,
the flowers still bloom,
the day is not over,
it has just begun.
The scent that I smell,
within the blossoms
that swell,
tell me
so much more,
is yet to come.
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Comments
Photo art credit, Roger Wedegis
https://fineartamerica.com/profiles/roger-wedegis.html
Hello, Robert.
Like any living thing we all grow old, we wither, and die.
Death is inevitable, it cannot be avoided, averted, deterred or delayed.
When it's our time to go, we'd best be prepared.
However, as your poem so skillfully points out, life seems to come and go so quickly.
I'm of the opinion that death is not the end–it is merely another chapter and a new beginning in the unyielding cycle of life.
Nicely penned,
~Dean Kuch ツ