A Passing Sad

by Lynnette Waite

A passing sad—it only

tip-toed across my heart.

Should I take a plaster cast

and seek the culprit?

No need for that

actually—no time;

For like walking on spongy ground

the footprints spring back,

And only those who saw them

would ever believe

they had been there.

Photo by Royce Bair