Will there always be aspects
Of adults that are childish?
Who chooses what stays
Or what goes?
As a plant extends influence
In its leaf stems and roots
The nascent aroma
Seed will know
As the young citadel basks
Nude in the sun, time converts its
Spires and gardens
And foolish wars
Precede wise choirs
Preserving old structures
With refrain
As a baby bird
Lives without
Our words, its songs
were forgotten
It consumed fed
And reared baby birds
And its bones tell
Of what we've lost
And we with car architecture
Metal vertebrae
And phones holding our mind
With steel bones showing our
The last frames
Our bodies could find
Words without sound
Are portrait bound
By the most
Diligent writer
Take heed they will no doubt
Pluck your words
So the world will see
What has gone
Image source: https://unsplash.com/@mistypittman