“The flower dances in the sun,
But the leaf grants you shelter, only leaving to better herself once her job is done.”
She is my diary,
Her skin is paper,
Blue veins ink
Blossoming secrets beneath my fingers.
She changes with the seasons
Bursting with fire and ire
Before withering in retrospect.
Yet retreat is not loss:
It’s in quiet thought she blooms
Buds fresh with reflection:
Indeed, she is not green with naivety
But instead, perspective.
Every fall spurns growth
And an oath
To better;
Fragile and evermore.
Megan Hopkin
Illustration Nick Victor