I am gasping like a fish on a dock;
it is hard to breathe
when beauty is overwhelming.
There is too much that is wonderful
and I cannot embrace it
or hold it firmly in my hands.
Outside the window
the spring wind shakes the branches
of the Purple Prince on my front lawn,
leaves of green and purple dancing
like so many little blades in the sun.
It only takes a mere glance
to see just how lovely it is,
and I become aware of my heart
thumping in my chest.
If I were to pluck a leaf or a bud,
I would only diminish the beauty,
therefore it must not be disturbed.
And yet I yearn to disturb it,
to have something tangible of this singular moment of awe
and make it eternal.
But the leaf will dry up and wither,
and gradually turn to dust,
its beauty stolen away
by the ravages of oxygen and time.
To try to capture the beauty of flora
when it is at its most healthy and luxuriant,
one only brings autumn and winter
before their reign is to begin.
Therefore I must leave it alone,
and suffer at the wonderment,
die at the beauty,
be lost to life itself.