bittersweet early bloomer
drunk on the blood of winter
swollen in the sleeping soil
to thrust a graceful, frilled neck
that soaks up the delight of the sun
intoxicating passers by to
swoon in half-sorrow longing
the perfume cuts through
the air like an errant
discus thrown and then struck
by the jealous wind
so sweetness springs from
the grave where youth fell,
to sorrow-seed the fallow ground
Flower poems continue! Thanks for reading!
The Poetry Patio 