A pinch of salt

Everything passes. It has to.

The glorious inbetween

With the tender, young green leaves
Nested in the warm womb of spring
Yet to unfurl their faces to the air
Tussling with the whiny winter breeze
That resiliently clings onto the boughs
Unwilling to part ways with yesterday

With the myriad, infantile lying lines
Lying in wait, below the surface of my skin
Eager to mark my thirty-something face
With age, experience, wisdom and what not
My world teeters in the threshold of transience
A chrysalis caught in the glorious inbetween

girl in spring

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This entry was posted on April 11, 2017 by in adventure, Experiences, Life stories, Musings, Poetry, Point of view, Relationships, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , .
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