A Calla Lily
A lily sits frozen upon a white mountain,
Overseeing the crimson sun.
Overseeing landscapes with striking ginger and emerald,
That even God dreams of such blissful sceneries.
Its Wind blows the Grass,
Into a wave motion, swiftly, and gently moving towards the lily,
Yet such a gentle gesture is unable to sooth away its bitter cold.
When it rains and falls on the ground,
Striking sounds of a piano echo’s throughout its pores.
Leaving a beauty, a masterpiece,
Trapped in a cold glacier, unable to feel,
The sweet rush that you feel,
When you hear and see what the simple things in life has to offer.
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