Darlann Rubio, Tyler

Yet, in a fortnight, with hints of autumn in the air, the stem of my lily creases, petals weaken, beauty forms anew.

Fall is past. Spring is near. My little lily, how she has grown.

She, too, shall see a lily spring up, perhaps identical, in comparison to her own.

One can dream a dream of future heart’s desire So fragile, yet fulfilling.

What a passing thought.