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Youth
June 6, 2010
A morning glory is shy in its
Waking hour,
Secluded in a tight-fisted bud
It turns its face to
The sun,
And blooms in fleeting flashes
Of colour
But with a similar haste,
The same sun that beckoned the bud
To bloom
Sucks the vibrancy from its frangible flesh through
Dry lips
And all too soon the morning fades as that same sun
Winks goodbye
And wilted petals grace the fertile floor,
Cascading down like used sheets of used paper
© Sarah S., Poland Spring, ME
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