CHANGE poem

       CHANGE

The little acorn became a tree

Then it died.

No leaves came in the spring.

Nothing lives

Without loss,

Whatever it be.

 

Sun, earth, moon.

Loss in a moment,

Of a passing thought,

Lost as quickly as it came.

Loss of innocence,

Even one’s own self

Goes where the acorn ends.

 

DR. KARL WALLACE DDS

To read more Dr. Wallace poems go to:                                                                                                         karlwallacaeblog.blogspot.com