That they will curl,
brown at the edges,
loosen from their moorings,
and then drop
silent
(crushed) --
they are no less
beautiful
perfect, precious
for this.
It is a story the
flowers
live a thousand times
like tiny test cases,
showing us death --
yes. But
then:
resurrection
again and again.
1 comment:
This is making me think of a conversation I had with my 6-year-old nephew while waiting at the bus stop a couple of weeks ago. Somehow I managed to disillusion him by letting him know that the white fluffy dandelions were actually dead dandelions. He was quite upset and said that "God tricked us!" I haven't quite figured out his theology, but I totally understand his feelings. And I don't think this is where your poem was headed but still it's where my mind went...
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