by Carmen H Gray
Time passes
it is a path of fallen petals
strewn across soundlessly, like dew drops
upon fresh blades of grass
they are just as temporal
each petal holds a moment
whereby a day was lived,
gladly or sadly
depending on the circumstances
they disintegrate
softly curling inward
becoming part of the footpath
where little bare feet tread
scattering with the wind
and nestling into the ground
resting under layers
of newly fallen petals
the soil and rocks
collectively guarding all
the knowledge and secrets
of each day lived
and each night spent
here on earth
Monarca Rising 