The Bud


Do not delay, don’t wait for word,

The spring will burst the tightest buds

Without you. Summer dries the stream

Without you. Autumn takes the breath


Of swallows – late to leave. And death

Will strike with winter ice and waste

The final throes of sun, and then

You’ll miss your time to effervesce.


Do not be caught in thoughts of lives

Which could have meant much more than this,

Which could have been, but passed you by.

The buds are leaves, are mould, are gone,


And you are watching as they dry.

Become the leaf, return to bud.



2 Comments to “The Bud”

  1. All I can say is Amen, brother. I don’t know if you’ve read the late American poet James Wright, but you could definitely share the barstool next to him. Same powerful imagery. Your last three words are something we should all take to heart.

  2. We are watching the buds open, drop their petals, and begin to swell on our fruit trees as Spring comes to our mountains. I have enjoyed the artistic concept of the 4 seasons, not since first hearing Vivaldi’s piece, but when my mother made a floor to ceiling stained glass window on that theme.

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