/home /blog 30 Mar 2020 | Get ipynb

Put Down Your Obsession

Come child, the sun is gone
leave the land of animal whim.

That shrub, to which you were so drawn,
nod goodbye, it's not your kin.

A flower you loved not for being a rose,
but 'cause from the ones that grow,
it was yours to claim.

Come put that rose to rest,
there are more; just the same.

Waiting to love, from all those who pick,
you; who glimpsed and on a whim,
picked this rose in your childish game.