From Roots
by Andi Lutz
Cherry blossoms fade,
wilt and die,
gone until next year.
The cycle,
a never ending circle.
From the branch begins fruit;
small, hard, and green,
to soft and ripe.
Then rotten if not picked,
falling to the ground.
The tree gives to itself
to be fertilized
and to spread more
throughout the earth.
Poems
