DECEMBER

Pulsating growth is turning

full circle

to be recycled.

Tired roses on sapless stems.

Twelve month cycle

echoing our own.

Birth, fullness, death.

The conveyor belt

moves in time with our minds

for that is where we live.

Faith, it is so simple.

A crevice to allow to seep in

establish.

Not recycle, rebirth.

Thoughts flit while I brush leaves

like burnt cornflakes.