I wrote this poem when I was about ten, for my first love. The subject matter was simple. I spoke of life; I used a flower as a metaphor. Cadence was exposed within the rhythm; housing both within the edifice of a rhyme.

I wrote it out on a tea-stained soaked piece of paper in an “Old English” hand-scripted font. I also included a small twenty-nine-cent flower plant I bought from my local Newberry’s. Our kiss was my first. It was really more of a peck, but the moment cannot be framed by time. To do so would be unjust, a travesty of love. It’s funny though? I don’t remember ever seeing her again — Ahhh…, even a kiss can cut into the soul in so many ways—but you already know that, don’t you?

Life comes in winter and fall,

it shouldn’t mean just anything at all.

It also comes in summer and spring

and should mean just everything.

Life is in the future,

and will soon come your way.

So try to make the best of it,

before it flies away.

Life is like a flower,

glowing in the light.

Its swaying beauty brings to us,

a colorful delight.

Flowers live

and flowers die.

And like some people,

they too watch life go by.