There is a sound
Between the rustle of leaves
Before the breeze
Comes tickling
There is a sound
It is slight
The heartbeat of the plant
Life humming through its veins
A flower plucked
In the moments after
Remains attached
In consciousness
It lives in the vase
For a day
Perhaps two
Before it’s pulse fades
And it longs for its roots
Beautiful ❤️
Thanks Hal 🌷
You’re welcome!!
Much like ourselves. 💗🥀
Yes 🌱😊
Lovely
I long for my spiritual roots to stop getting “ego rot”
I think it’s a constant danger but am getting quicker at recognising hubris and taking myself down a peg or two
Wonderful words wonderful photo.
Thank you 😊
This is such a beautiful poem!
Thanks Karalee
Most lovely🌷
Thankyou my friend 🌷🌷
You are most welcome🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻