Those pink lilies I worship in tender silence

as they dance between magic and passion,

whispering incantations across the meadow:

a sorcery woven out of beauty and affection.

Desolated I see eternity in chrysanthemums,

feeling their precious souls calling me aloud.

The shy adulteries of my heart quiet sweetly

whenever my flowers sigh in a windy cloud.

The soundless jasmines, so glad persuade

my eyes with the shy secrets of their birth,

showing me a fragile delicacy without end

as their deep roots anchor in Mother Earth.

Who knows what my white roses may think

when bees carry pollen from flower to flower.

Maybe their new buds gladden solitary eyes:

those who are unaware of their own power.

I know not why flowers hold my calloused heart,

harvesting heavenly thoughts of joy and bliss.

But the moment this essential delight I contemplate,

I see clearly what the windmills of my life still miss.

Karla Bardanza

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