Spring comes, grass grows on its own.
In the pond, a fish leaps with a splash.
Petals tumble, quiet music on the waters.
Above the vale, a moon thins, insects sing.
Do not follow, but find a new path.
Eat breakfast gazing at morning glories.
Climb green hills and granite cliffs.
Skinny dip under a covered bridge.
From the oak tree, learn of the oak tree.
Master the rules, then ignore them.
Living poetry is better than writing it.
Each moment could be the last.
The journey itself is the true prize.
© 2022, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.
