Because the Buckeyes are blooming--

Finity

Three days this May,

the Buckeye blooms.

Seven times this week

you will be cut off in traffic.

Nineteen times this year

you will be distracted by a beautiful man.

You will stumble on sidewalk imperfections

     thirty nine times over the next decade.

And in that time,

you will try fourteen new ice cream flavors.

And begrudgingly attend

eighty three obligatory social functions.

And once,

in all your years,

you will catch a glimpse 

     of eagles mating high over Hong Kong harbor.

In the course of your adulthood,

You will swear in absolute anger

four hundred and sixty nine times.

You will say “I love you” and mean it 

roughly ten times that much.

You will see twelve different countries,

Receive fifty nine parking tickets

     and catch thirty two good sized fish.

You will know the words to two hundred eighteen songs,

Be audited twice,

     and spend one hundred thirty six nights 

silently weeping in grief.

You will do seventeen things for which

you will always remain ashamed

And accrue twenty nine major and minor scars.

You will dance one waltz

and remember it fourteen hundred and thirty six times.

Three hundred seventy two dances you will not remember at all.

Two hundred forty five sunrises will catch your breath

And once,

in all your long life,

a small brown butterfly will circle your face three times

and light upon your nose.