Driving throughthe morning’s round of drop-offs
the radio tells of man
and I watch as magnolia trees
drop great showers of
silky, blushing blooms.
Spring is the foolish seasonwhose beauty we cannot long endure
so the trees, in their gracefulness,
weep their soft and silent petals
knowing we’ll need their leafy shade
to hide us from the searing sun.
So much beauty falling on the silent earth,so much beauty fallen.