A Dozen Dragonflies

The water babies by Charles Kingsley

A dozen dragonflies flew by today
Each as varied as the months in a year
Some content with the warmth of the land
Some sorrowful at the lack of petrichor
Some blissful with the gifts bestowed by time
Some teary-eyed at the bits buried under sand
Each with an unique shimmer in its wings
Fragile hearts that never sprout roots
None at least of regret for having flown
For home is always the same earth
that one carries within
Even as the world goes around

©Reena Prasad
on completing a dozen years in the desert

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