Thursday, February 25, 2010

Dowry of the Bride

Can these crumpled leaves really hold a flower?
A fist clenched this tight would crush any flower.

A glimpse of sky through the roof of a bower
naked to the wind and unclothed with flowers.

Emerald enamel sheathes the walls of this tower,
this bud that imprisons the thought of a flower.

And the hopeful search, and the desperate scour
their hearts for a glimpse of a beckoning flower.

Last summer's savor has turned to sour
for want of the perfume of opening flowers.

And no-one can dream yet of a tranquil hour
when bees might rest upon an outspread flower.

The Bride of the Beloved will reveal her dower
when God calls "Open" to the sleeping flower.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside


Anonymous said...

This is lovely as well as haunting.

Stan Ski said...

A hidden gem!

madeline d. murray said...

The poem is quite beautiful, and the image is lovely as well. Thank you.