Buried things burst upwards
As a child reaching for the stars
Metamorphosis runs wild
Only to be heard silently
This is the morning glory.
Air stiff with desire
Time stands heavy, thick as fog
Moonlight lingers in the petals of purple hyacinths
Whom cradle their weighed sorrows
Igniting the Earth wordlessly
A merciless beauty bestowed
Pink carnations cock their heads
Starved from the tenebrous night
Bleeding hearts dripping from their stems
Fall onto the wetted grass
Roots curl, clawing onto the distant soil
For where would we be without it?
Written by Grace Bugin