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The Flower

By Wil C. Fry, April 4, 2006, 13:15

Copyright © 2006 by Wil C. Fry. All rights reserved.


At first, just a seed, some pollen,
    a posted message on a blog
Surrounded by fertile soil, fallow ground,
    our lonely lives
Watered by the rain, the mist, and dew,
    good first impressions and well-written emails
Warmed and given life by the burning sun,
    a pleasant phone call
With tender care, the bud begins to bloom,
    we meet in person
And love’s petals begin to show
A multi-colored delight
A scent so pleasing
Like music playing
But, like a flower, love cannot
    be fulfilled in the garden
A strong hand plucks the beautiful object from its home,
    puts a ring on her finger
The stem in a vase.
But, unlike the fate of the flower,
This love will not wilt on the dining room table
For its roots are still in our hearts
Nourished through the ages
As seasons change
The petals may fade
But if we tend it daily
It will always bloom again.



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