*
the blossoms on the trees
this is the season are pink
and white both becoming to
the sky’s hues as to the thin
blushing of the passing clouds
some are already stretched
on the ground decorating grass
dirt or cement some floating
dead in puddles reflecting
though a darker sky
.
.
.
.
.
annamosca 
Beautiful
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Thank you!
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A very clever poem. The fact that the reader has to put in the punctuation makes us feel a part of your creating.
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You got it, poetry is slow reading and crafting of images and feelings as we slow down.
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LOVEly 🙂
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Love to you too 😉
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I like your California poetry. It take me back to good places missed.
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