Wake.
Grow.
Bloom.
Blossom.
Change.
The season turns
again.
The past and present
are not the same,
but the cycle
is certain,
a constant.
And I can feel it –
down in my bones,
deep in my soul –
now
more than ever.

Wake.
Grow.
Bloom.
Blossom.
Change.
The season turns
again.
The past and present
are not the same,
but the cycle
is certain,
a constant.
And I can feel it –
down in my bones,
deep in my soul –
now
more than ever.

Beautiful poem and photo!
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Thank you!!
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