Spring Child

Poetry May 14, 2019

The chillness of spring winds call out to me, expecting me to meld into the hazily tangled horizons of an evening summer.
Mired in conundrum, I heed to it anyway.
Flowers bloom fresh and the unlucky ones are crushed by callous walkers sauntering on the sidewalk.
I'm petrified wood — excavated from the heat of the earth, my roots spreading into its core, and my hair blossoming like a forest filled with wild flowers in cherry red. The winds lilt me like a leaf on autumn's end.
I run around in circles and the scent of the flowers follow me like dog's tail.

And just like that, Spring sprung up from winter's sleep.

Photo by Meriç Dağlı / Unsplash


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