Those pink lilies I worship in tender silence
as they dance between magic and passion,
whispering incantations across the meadow:
a sorcery woven out of beauty and affection.
Desolated I see eternity in chrysanthemums,
feeling their precious souls calling me aloud.
The shy adulteries of my heart quiet sweetly
whenever my flowers sigh in a windy cloud.
The soundless jasmines, so glad persuade
my eyes with the shy secrets of their birth,
showing me a fragile delicacy without end
as their deep roots anchor in Mother Earth.
Who knows what my white roses may think
when bees carry pollen from flower to flower.
Maybe their new buds gladden solitary eyes:
those who are unaware of their own power.
I know not why flowers hold my calloused heart,
harvesting heavenly thoughts of joy and bliss.
But the moment this essential delight I contemplate,
I see clearly what the windmills of my life still miss.
Karla Bardanza
