The Saddest Season

Blooming can be the saddest season.
Grow, spread,
wither away

like petals
from a tombstone
covered in last Winter’s poinsettias.

I closed my window ,
drew the blinds,
wandering through the wildflowers
of my mind

to the last glimpse of sun;
feelings following the scent
of honeysuckles

all the way to the end of April.

 

 
~Day 28 of NaPoMo *a poem a day in April for National poetry month)

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