When neither the sky,
Nor the ground,
Can readily be seen, …

I often try,
To sort and organize,
The different shades inside, …

When leaves,
In late autumn,
Refused to fall, …

That,
Which binds us,
Is not the ring, …

Winter nears,
My petals have fallen,
Yet resolute I remain, …

What appears to be,
Is often otherwise,
To that which a child, …

Only few memories,
Remain vivid and sharp,
As days quietly drift on. …

All dressed up,
Ready yet alone,
With nowhere to go. …

As a child,
I craved to know.
Later in life, …

When the world,
Feels dense and overgrown,
I’ve learned to close the door. …

Despite anxiety,
Hesitancy or unease,
For where the road leads, …

I will find ways,
To remain fruitful,
While getting old. …

As a child,
With nothing to hide,
Privacy I didn’t understand. …

It’s the familiar,
Feel and sound,
From days now gone, …

Some mornings,
Even the sun,
Needs to dispel, …

My shadow,
Is easier to see,
When in daylight, …