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.