Day Eighteen

Little you, that piece
of you, first bud
on lilac’s branch,
will bloom forth
without burden.

Little you, that
sadness you hold,
a milk glass trifle
of memory past,
will fade.

Little you, those
tears, rainlets to wash
away abandoned hope,
sun faithfully dawns.

Little you, you are
as vital as the least
imperceptible cell
and the most
eloquent planet.

Little you, rejoice
in you, for you are
perfect, simply
by your creation.

And that is all
that matters.

Author’s Note:

Not following the prompt today, but borrowing a word. Thank you, Vandana Bhasin.