It's a little budding bud, trying to flare its sprouts

like fire-eater heaven blast, finally rejoin

and met, where water mourned for hope, sights.

        It's spell of hope that glorifies, anticipate nature's

million mysteries, like youthful joy: only sustainable

for a time, until darkness nibbled on the graves.

       A little while, a little bit: the fire rose blasted,

finally gnawing the amber glow, breathing from

hidden heart, thump, thump, thump!

       Faded, failed, withered, escalate, beauty of buds:

re-joying where tears dwell, fall and died,

but, but— I was the worm that lurked inside.

        Awake, awake, hear the roar of ferocious winds

beauty once stolen, now grimace and waves,

winter howls and rain drives: perhaps the heart knew it shrunk.

       But— worms never leave their roots,

for sweet the sight, for spicy the smell,

Only I was sullen, in dead crests!

little budding rose never leaves its home

fire glow rounded in the globes!

— 4th September, 2023