Spring Fling

across squishy ground 
scattered remnants of winter—
young child in heaven

~A Rose by Any Other Name~

They say
that in poetry
one can confess
all their sins

be freed from
their past
and start again

but these words
I write
won’t last long enough
to be remembered

no matter how hard
I try to hide them
behind flowery prose

they will never
smell like a rose

Survival


while he eats the mouse
the hungry fox does not care—
if the chase was fair