Days fall like jacaranda blossoms to the ground
Gently drifting from future to present to past.
A soft purple rain, a subtle sea of sound
A movement, sometimes slow and sometimes fast.

There's much magic and mystery to be found
Before the game is done, the die has been cast.
"Smell the roses" is a wisdom well renowned
And one worth following to life's very last.

But the fleeting blossoms quickly fade from the tree
And are forgotten. Let us capture what we've known:
Make pressed flowers of our memories for all to see.

One day we'll page through fragile petals, you and me,
Sharing the echo of their fragrance; there, in the past now flown,
We'll find the happy moments to set our future free.

Linsen Loots