Even at this mortal hour,
In the dead of Autumn’s fall,
Amidst the serious browns and crimsons
Bloom the childish lilac dots.
They dance pastel, and flower at the wayside.
“Hi!” they say, and grin and wave
Against a dying Bon Voyage.
They blow a hello kiss to the backdrop
Of a universe that groans, “Goodbye.”
But more than that,
They play and gambol,
And skip rope to a mysterious nursery rhyme:
“There is no time,
No such season,
No such season,
No such thing
-As time.”
-jenn long
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