Petal and Chaff

       Late spring bloom wilted
   well before autumn, questioning
patience and faith in serendipity;
   begging questions of latency
 or laziness; since I stood
    there plucking—
  She loves me…
      she loves me not…
I am foolish.
  What sway could the destruction
     of this simple thing of beauty
          have over Fate?
None. I'm grasping at straws,
     not binding wheat for harvest.
  Soon, the leaves will turn
and fall from the trees,
     like the time that slips
             through
               my fingers…
But talent and aptitude only
      get you so far, boy. Ambition
   and hard work, they are
               the crucial elements…