The Lily
The grove within the forest leads to a river,
Where sings the frogs, dragonflies, and birds
And there they die away, quietly, welcomed by their young
Decomposing in the ground, their smells lost within others
The lily, drenched in dew, dries slowly in the sun
Near the water, soft, sweet-scented, true
She dries more and more, till dawn gifts her gloss
And again, she has beyond what she needs
Dripping, crying, the darkness cannot consume her elegance
Even in dying days, she shrivels with eternal fragrance
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015
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