They’ve stopped picking flowers and started planting apple trees,
these registrars of tomorrow, choosing a more lasting sustenance
over the jolt of fragrance, all while polishing stones to a high shine
for a more cultured reflectance than glass’s wandering soul can offer,
foregoing the temperance of yesterday for the quells of the mundane,
focusing only on pace and stubborn dedication, forcing hunger down
without realizing it’s only spring and their trees have yet to bloom.