I was not meant to

toil the thickness of prose

or suffer the madness

of time frames.

Wisteria climbing a wall

in good time is pleasing,

a bit of purple a slice of stem.

Poolingdroplets of rain

in folded leavesof

broad faced hollyhock

tracking the sun or

dormant buds sleeping

beneath winters

hard earth awaiting

anightingale’ssong

is appealing.

In time passersby

may findbeauty in me,

a reflection of nature.