Resurrection
Little brown orb
lying so lightly in my hand,
the marvel of you demanding my attention.
Could I but see deep into your heart,
I would find a perfectly formed flower
waiting there.
Waiting for me
to stir the rich brown earth and make a bed,
a room to hold you through the winter storms.
What life force induces you to grow
and not decay in your dark tomb?
Who guides you?
Lovingly
I cradle you and croon a lullaby.
Your fragile skin splits and bares your creamy flesh,
seemingly much too delicate to survive the
frosts and heaves to come.
I place you there.
Sleep little one.
In hibernation let the good earth nourish you.
Your internal clock, set by Nature,
will waken you to spring;
triumphantly breaking free,
a lovely tulip blossom.
Won 7th place in contest Anything But rhyme.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2010
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