Three Thruths

Of this, I am sure.

Three Truths

I

Autumn’s sprites
drop their tears
between a pine cone’s
brown petals.
In the spring,
each sorrow blooms
into wildflower.

II

Sparrows can see
sunlight drape
November’s
bare branches
like tinsel.

III

The wind etches
fairytales on the parchment
of dry leaves
that crinkle
beneath the stride
of a happy child.

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