A poem of mine:
Beneath soft coverlet of white
and underneath our filth and grime,
another world lost from our sight
will spring again when it is time.
Despite our careless wanton ways,
we, too, are part of life’s design,
although it seems we never learn
that all are one and intertwine.
If we could heed a simple truth
of cycles turning by degree,
perhaps we’d linger in our youth,
as wisdom teaches: just to be.