Spring at Ten O’Clock
A Poem
It’s a routine in my garden that,
there occurs spring at ten O’clock.
The silent spring of Moss Roses,
the odorless, short-lived, neglected,
and needle-leaved tiny pretty flowers.
It’s a routine in my garden that,
the rays of summer sun constantly
stab the myriads of little petals.
It’s a routine in my garden that,
they wilt and shrink to eventual death.
It’s a damn truth of my garden that,
springs are routine evanescence!
