Friday, May 5, 2017

The Peony



“It isn’t as bad as you sometimes think it is.”
Gordon B. Hinckley


The dead stalks of my peony lay on the frozen ground.
All color dashed away to dust -- twas just a lifeless mound.
What comfort could this quietus give unto me at all?
It was a bleak reminder of my mortally slow crawl.

A melancholy fool was I, for underneath the land
My peony still slumbered, preparing something grand.
I looked upon my peony this morning to behold
Its sudden reaching to the sky, with globes of pastel gold.

A touch of warmth, a bit of rain, had given it the power
To once again revive and create flower after flower.
The world is full of peonies, and so I need to strive
To see them ev’rywhere I go and keep my hope alive.

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