The Blossoms Cry Out

Posted on March 21, 2011 by literarylee

Look upon me
ye world weary,
tired of winter’s stark, spare beauty.

Breathe deeply of us
all cynics
who despair of ever breathing a fragrance worth inhaling.

Marvel,
oh people,
before our vast tribe’s numberless multitude.

About literarylee

I sling words for a living. Always have, always will. Some have been interesting and fun; most not. These days, I write the fun words early in the morning before the adults are up and make me eat my Cream of Wheat.
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