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.First, the lush green

tendrils make

a basil rosette.

Beneath the wither

of summer

she brittles,

dispersing her little

ones, the stickseed,

onto the down

of a doe's coat

or between the

ribs of passing

corduroy,

to be reborn

as a mother on

the forest floor.

Nice nature piece...no criticisms... enjoyed

Short but never-ending cycle of a poem, thanks.

 
Hi Ken,

evolution of creativity

genesis -> metamorphosis -> maternity


from the forest floor
to be reborn
as mother



from maternity to eternity



Michael (MV)

 
 
 
 

Thank you

Theory of evolution in short.