sure feet plant themselves upon shifting sands
defying urgent notice lent to ears by others, older
take root, settle in, spread seeds, tend the land
because beauty wilts without proper plans
for a garden of aging roses boasts
little in value and little in yield
possessing a fleeting idea at most
of weightlessness; freedom bound to no host
for what is more beautiful
then that which is uncertain?
tend as you do and watch
delights bloom
short-lived and always a spectacle
sands shift, flowers die
no sure footing. but we can pretend