Budding the Blossoms
Silent humming, alone in vernal self.
Floral vibrations shudder on in planetary consciousnes of temporal living health.
Budding the blossoms, resonating in unison.
One more chance at life for us this season.
Snow is melted, only nothingness lasts.
Heaven is my orchid, "Whitman" had Grass.
Like dust our pollen, ashes soon blow; till one long last winter. When nothing again; returns to grow.