|The Spring Blossoms
The spring blossoms
They deny the knowledge of fall,
are innocent in the soft breezes.
Like a child the spring blossoms sway
and await the nest.
I am glad to see my friends.
I am glad to have made it through another
drab hungry sadness to
meet with the blossoms, to
breathe again the scent,
in a world which has no sense to
offer, no wealth of reason
except for my friend, the bumblebee.
We have common friends, he and I.
Together we will visit them
. . . . . . . .