I love the smell of flowers
Freshly picked in May.
I love the focus
On the crocus.
January days—

I love we have the moment
To stop and smell the breeze.
For after long,
Time will be gone
And with it, all the bees.

Enjoy the joy and laughter for
The future isn’t set.
It don’t look good,
But we still could
Buy some time just yet.

But only if we promise
To care less for ourselves
Than for our kids.
The way we live
Is toxic to their health.

And one day we’ll be gone.
Then they’ll inherit Earth.
What will it be?
What will we leave?
Just memories of mirth?

They will tell tales to their children
Of January days.
Of flowers
Every hour
In freshly picked bouquets—