The Flower

Paper-thin petals
paler than snow
laced with scarlet thread
and tend’rest purple hues,
so small
yet enormously scented.

Curled
satiny leaves
of palest green
learn to lean
into the wind,
trembling
yet held still
beneath
the shelt’ring cypress.

Wisps of roots push down
and a hair-thin stem
freed from its wintry grave
reaches for the gold
of new sunlight
yet to burst through
the shivery shade of an old rusty gate
left hanging
on hoarse hinges
yet to be oiled
and yet to be swung into the garden
when the groom returns.

Petra O. Hefner
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