She blossoms every morning,
    Though she

may wither slightly

                      though the harsh
Breezes of  the daily life.

She still is a flower
     Of impeachable beauty.

Though the day may wilt her.

She is the fragrance,
     That will never fade.

And I will gaze upon
     Her for eternity


For she is my blossom
   In the garden of life.

I can see Spring
and her fine colours
from afar.
I long to stand under the
cherry blossom tree as
it rains confetti down on me.
Instead I stand in real rain, hazy,
pattering, smatterings of daffodils
pressed against barbed wire.

They are so pleasant to our eyes,
The flowers, nature’s great creation.
Though their apparel is so nice,
Their blossom has a short duration.

But beauty of a different kind
Can be contrasted with a flower.
It constantly excites our mind,
Makes us do things beyond our power.

Great artists laud it day and night
And it is worth our praise and duty.
You, pretty women, have the right
To wear this splendid crown of beauty.

Silently,
Slowly,
Gracefully,
She blossomed,
Unfolding her beauty,
Petal by petal,
A perfect rose,
Sweet and  fragile,
Caressed by innocence.
He came into her room one night,
Her own peer,
He violated her,
Took away her purity,
Crushed her trust,self respect and joy,
With his greed,lust and evil intentions.
I could see her dark rimmed eyes, sad and haunted,
Now a tattered rose.
19/2/2020

I wear an old shade of red.
My belly is a wrinkled
skin of fruit.
I am no longer a ripe peach,
not even a blossom.
That my daughter is.