Gardenias

You will grow out

of me

eventually.

You will fall asleep

without saying 

goodnight. 

You will have your tea

with a little 

lemon

and not

remember why.

You will see 

all of 

the forests

on stormy days,

the sparrows and

the yellow blooms,

and they will 

be

nothing more. 

You will know how

to fly,

still like a petal

on the wind.