And so the branch lies there bleached white
Its leaves no longer court the light,
Torn by wind, weathered by spindrift,
Like Ozymandias it stands
A reminder, beached on the sands.
Time’s horses fly, colors redshift,
Yet we remain through words and art,
Cover distances though apart
We’re born, we love, our journey’s swift.
This is for Jane’s Poetry Challenge 23: Nove Otto 9 lines, 8 syllables, aabccbddb