I’ve almost figured them out,
now that they are blowing off,
turning lighter, curling, and falling.
They are there only a moment,
as tight red buds, then masses of pink.
They are garlands for the wedding
of time and space.
They were thick for a week,
perfumed bold blooms
bursting along spare stems.
They are beautiful for their short time,
it is tragic for their short time,
I love them, I will miss them,
they are like my life.
I accept the invitation
although I have arrived late
and I have nothing to wear.
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