Blossoms

Let the past go.

The ashes of yesteryear,

Washed away by the rains of spring.

The thunder of artillery,

The trappings of winter’s war,

Rusted away in the barren places.

Winter’s last gasp.

Foundered around the rosy blossoms.

 

 

© Michael Iannucci- Berger

 

One thought on “Blossoms

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