Posted in Poetry

Moving On by L. M. Montes

As I saunter toward the river’s path,
a gentle breeze tickles my cheek and pass by,
floating, billowing, wafting about
and circling back while picking up scents
of violets teetering side to side.

I halt at the hint of violet upon the breeze,
wondering if the scent will carry itself back to me,
but no, it’s not to come to pass again,
just freshness, newness, playfulness of life
introduces itself to me with every step and passing breath.



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