I make all things new,”
says the spring.
“I warm the air,
I flower the trees,
I end your schooling.
I bring you back to old friends,
but only for a little while.”
And the still
voice inside me says, “Hey wait a second,
could you hold off
on making all things new?
Could you let me remain with my friends
could you let me be comfortable?
Why can’t some things stay the same?”
In Which I Am No Langston Hughes