Flowers are most enthralling
when they're blooming,
yet they're spent
even before you lament
in a remote mountain village.
To the best of my knowledge,
we're all flecked,
no more perfect
than this imperfect universe.
The errors we made on impulse
when being silly
have turned out to be
eternal tears of sorrow.
Nonetheless,
we have to let go
of our past frivolousness
and foolishness
as long as we're still breathing.
We must discard this rusted leaf
if we're still hoping
to turn over a new leaf.

Revised Version