Mixed by the magic,
of blue and green.
Earth’s grandeur pours down,
beauty unseen.

Leaves rustle,
the grass dances gay.
Today’s Springs ambushes
death’s gateway.

Through passing time,
through changing resting places.
Replacing songs,
familiar faded faces.

I depart from my old skin,
under the majestic trees I’ll lay
as Earth’s clay canvas

By Bruised Melodies


Are you among the group who thinks certain months comes with certain blessings?

This poem eulogies how embellished the atmosphere in which the month of December was created.

And how its rebirth forces all odds of life to keep it flourishing “through passing time” and a transfer of newness to him whenever he meets the presence of the month.

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