wrote this one many years ago but I always think about it when the crocus start to bloom.

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—