Though they’ve fallen from their former glory,
wilted, wistful, in a wondrous heap- look! Look there!
Do you see their brilliant sinews?
The silk stitches, touches of starlight, of seasons
changing, of the blossoms
they once were. Of the new buds they
will become. Beautiful still,
in their reds and indigos,
white for their naiveté, pink for their great hope.
Their flesh- soft now, made supple
through these changes.
Their tips are curled, now quietly, subtly inviting.
Beautiful still, even after all this.
Commentary: This is a poem I wrote inspired by the wilting petals on the various bouquets of flower I received for my birthday. It struck me how, just because something might be damaged, or aged, or past its time, or even been through some terrible thing, it is not less beautiful. No less valuable. No less strong. How sometimes, in life, the opposite is true.
