I am an annual
I am an annual
born to die by spring.
Not made to outlast
what winter will bring.
You may love me now,
but that won’t change a thing.
Because I am not here
to make it til spring.
I am a transient
kind of being.
Accepting of fate,
that we are but a fling.
When winter comes knocking,
I shall not cling.
For I am quite educated
about this kind of thing.
I am an annual
not made to see spring.
And you are a perennial,
Born to live beyond me.
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Posted Aug 31, 2020, 9:02 PM UTC
I am always drawn to sadness when it comes to poetry. I get images of a fleeting relationship maybe? Something that could have been more, but wasn't meant to be. Very nice poem.