Regrets are never really undone, are they?

Exqusite Delusions

 

We speak of our regrets

as though to be undone

the last of winter’s cold

returns at summer’s end

the downfall of the leaves

the garden’s time to grieve

We store all our last faults

and will the land to bend

bring what the season yields

from which we earn our wealth

you sought the earth’s last row

hand in your harvest plow

We see the way to turn

undo the fallen theme

the dried flowers shatter

I work against the dark

and the sun’s weakened light

reverses and is bright

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