Gentle Gem Poem by Jan Jarnigan

Behold, the flower:
she's shorn of beauty fair.
How her delicate head yields
to the elements out there.
She blossoms for a time...
a time, and yet who knows.
For what time is,
one can only suppose.
The gentle gem of earth,
this flower,
has fulfilled her purpose true.
Frail beauty of this realm,
partaken of by few.
Wherefore in her season,
she lyeth in cold dust;
corruption of petal, leaf...
in earth with its' rust.
Only to resurrect
with new life in the Spring...
Speaking sublime of rebirth,
she sings and sings.
The eloquent moment
is again at hand.
As her purpose is to grow
and be the fairest in the land.
Drops of dew yet glisten,
on a pristine sight...
As once again, this
fragile flower
prepares to take her flight.