Leaflike
Blossoms sprout in the heart,
the entrails of the start.
Now things woken with life,
for survival they strive.
At last the evils sicken,
life is never a given.
The battering of living,
for being it is hitting.
Alas, now they pass,
fall down to green grass.
It is leaving the heart,
the ending of a start.
Copyright © Tomas Ionescu | Year Posted 2023
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