Four Point One

A clump of dried leaves from frail
limbs I failed to nurture,
settling on a page under
my sinking face 
with a scent to lift up
the low spirits in me,
such rotten source
blessing me with remedy

The comfort we receive
from the things we couldn't save, 
the purpose we gain regardless
an unfulfilled goal,
and the Love I'll always keep
even after the passing
are these propitious testaments 
I can't trade for resentments


-Nicola An
Copyright © | Year Posted 2021

Poem

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