wear down rhyme and reason,
to the dust of sorrow.
Green emerges out of earth:
the unattended birth
of its tomorrow.
Every bud’s new colour burns
while the sun’s arc turns
the blue of sky around.
Seed-heads wither in the air
as drying winds prepare
the bare and fallow ground.
Patience rebuilds time’s long bridge
from every hoar-frost ridge
as the north wind sings.
Human ambition lies in tatters:
so little matters
in the scheme of things.
© BH, 2025
One round of the seasons, then a footnote on the insignificance of human existence.
Not a lot more to say…
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