I cut a bouquet of fresh lilies,
and placed them in a sparkling crystal vase,
then sat idly by, admiring
the stillness of their beauty.
With no wind to tickle nor stir the petals
into delicious fragrant laughter,
nor gentle breezes to wisp pearls of pollen
through silky afternoon skies.
Leaving bees to grieve endlessly,
with buzzing moans of confused loss
and my nostrils flaring with drowning scents,
disappearing beneath the tepid waters held in artfully cut glass.
Through the faceted glistening colors,
stems reached thirstily for renewal of earth,
finding naught but the coldness of human conception,
as they forlornly communed with finality.
Water turning murky with tiny bits of green
and prematurely graying stalk,
as stamens pirouetted in concave shadows
and fairy bells fruitlessly spoke with nature’s pleading braille…
Copyright © Bernadette Langer