Spring returns
carried by wisps of warm air,
Blades shooting out of cracks in the earth,
Buds yearning to bloom.
The season carries a sentience,
The feeling on the tip of your tongue,
The precious, out of your reach.
corona di tarassaco
Those little drops of gold,
gather into a wreath of light
Upon my head.
Yet like the little weeds,
Spring too will melt away,
Vanish into the air.
YOU ARE READING
Olive (Poetry Vol II)
PoetryHello dear reader!!! Welcome to Olive, my second book of poetry! Here I will be compiling my original poetry. My uploading will be spontaneous, because I work in short bursts of creativity, so apologies in advance. If you are looking for more of my...
