#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Gone to seed

If I let this be my way

of writing

words are seeds

lifted like feathers

wind travels

In June, yellow

petals drew bees

caught sun

In every season

every morning

the 7 am train

whistles past

what blooms

and browns

ages, renews

A whistle is 

warning and

waking: 

by this place

I am passing