THE BEGINNING OF THE END
On a winter day
I stroll through the woods and see half dead trees
wearing scars from former years leaning over sandy banks.
How high these trees used to grow!
I wish I could hibernate until the tenderness of spring.
The sight of a young woman used to please me
like the fragrance of freesia blossoms.
Overcome by weariness I regret many wasted days.
I could have done more.
How can I celebrate the moments ahead?