The Change

reflections upon reaching a certain age

 

blessings of day,

streaming of sun,

bursting the dam

awaiting the pleasure

of creation.

 

listen to the promise

the hush at twilight.

the flight of geese, the

raucous cawings of crows,

such calls herald changes

which must come

 

the drums of dawn,

new ingredients in the

hormonal soup

will change your flavours,

but not your identity.

 

Ah, for flowering

leads to fruiting and the

fruit is sweet

 

the seeds will sprout,

the whole unbroken,

a blessed flow of life

melting into rot,

feeding new growth,

and death shall have

no dominion.