Blossom

The day blossoms
        sun searing the grass
crisping the summer leaves
        the future is streets ahead
all that fruit will fall
        so many salads
will be devoured
        April May and June
are but memories
        and even as we love
our bodies turn to dust
        fragments of time
dissolve into thin air
        nothing but chaff
on the granary floor
        nothing but chaff

An offensive
        that’s what’s required
a counterattack
        to recoup lost ground
take back the freedom
        to fail or to succeed
unclench the fist and
        release seven white doves
as a sign of signs to come
        as a sign of days to come

John Lyons

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