A copse of lilacs not far from my house,
Sends a muse of delight riding the air,
Purple beauty and grace borne to my breath.
Sensed from a mile away; to them, I must go.
Lavender to purple, white and pink between.
A sight to be seen before they are gone,
Scent of April and Spring’s lazy days,
Of childhood joy, of Mother’s perfume.

This is the reason I love them so much.
They know they are fading as they appear.
Beauty so exquisite that it’s almost an ache.
The same fading is in us and in All.
Lilacs seem know while we seem to not.
As soon as we’re seen we’re already gone.

Resurrection’s wisdom hidden in plain sight.
Drying to faded brown clumps by Fall.
Sleeping in Winter’s white, icy cold cowl,
Awake in the bright green carpet of Spring.
We appear and disappear just the same.
Lilacs seem to know while we seem to not.

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