if we cut all flowers
would others one day bloom,
or would future springs
remain desolate?
it’s easy to reason that scissors
are to blame rather than a hand
holding them still, or a mind
which wields cold steel —
and so willingly, too.
(mostly) short poems on life and love

if we cut all flowers
would others one day bloom,
or would future springs
remain desolate?
it’s easy to reason that scissors
are to blame rather than a hand
holding them still, or a mind
which wields cold steel —
and so willingly, too.
writer, dreamer, lover, seeker. labels never reach the heart of any matter, but they might be a place to start...