Flower Lady

Flowers are gifts born of miracles

Comfortably, she holds the bunches high

As she walks she shows off her floral basket

Proud as she was; she still gasped a sigh

She’s on her way to the bustling market

 

Somewhere, someone, somehow

Would love her graceful renditions of nature

Petals of splendid colours; it’s blooming now

Fresh as dew; it took a miracle to mature

 

A spectrum of vibrant shades, tones and hues

With petals of near perfect twirls and formations

Yellow, maroon, vermilion, violets and blues

These are gifts of nature in their sacred incantation

 

Bought and sold; often taken for granted

Not realizing it took a miracle to create

From fields of bounty they are garnered

Only to wither and perish as time dictate

 

Ardent lovers would gleefully acquire them

 As a gift in hand for the ones they love

Creating awe and appreciation in tandem

Knowing it’s a gift through powers from above

 

Beyond such remarkable beauty lie fragility

Tantalizing, they need to be handled delicately

For these wonders of colours are never sturdy

Though frail, they still delight impressionably

 

The lady’s graceful and her flowers enchanting

She’s a reflection of charm and elegance

What a combination; how complementing

As if in a rendition of a beautiful dance

 

In admiration and fanciful appreciation

There’s melancholy and a sense of regret

When one lacks the person and resolution

To present to; who’d be happy to beget.