Lost

Blooming life from a memory past, decaying timber, life does not last.

The river pounds on solid rock,
Tunnels are carved with a spinning clock.

Tree's roots are strong and true,
The soft wind unearths the mighty few.

The strong fall as the weak rise,
All will face their own demise.

Rising dawn from the east,
setting sun in the west.

All good things must end,
Yet all good things start again.

Seed escape their hardened pods,
rising up against the odds.

What once was old is born anew,
soaking up the easts morning hue.

From decaying swamp to glacial frost, Everything comes back, nothing is lost.

Miles 2020