Like me, you're alien to this land.
You must be scarce, for I have not
Spotted you once, my long-lost friend,
in all these years...and I forgot
your heart-shaped leaves (that now I hear
look like colts' feet – no! hearts,) the gold
of yellow flowers that appear
before the leaves—out with the old
in with the new—heralds of spring,
anxious to bloom...I did forget
the suns I used to pick and bring
home, though they did not keep; and yet
I do recall the way it felt –
your touch. My little fingers traced
your leaves' soft lining as I knelt
on warm earth, sunshine on my face.
Live for the Love of it,
Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)
image: Pixabay
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