My first geranium blossom started me out on an ode to spring:
Warm, bright, in wisdom,
nature signals it’s time for love
even in cold rain.
Then turned unutterably sad:
Will they never bloom
nor feel another spring rain;
so young now, lives crushed in mud.
Life begins, life ends, but not in a natural course.
Sadness for the lives lost in the Parkland school shooting.
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