Whisper your intent into a jar and seal it with wax,
burying it under a bed of thorns that will bleed words into form.
Then as they fall in silence those words decay in form,
but words last as long as they are heard and so every year
a new flower will once again scribe them in to form.
Ready for the time when they will speak in fallen descent.
They whisper in beauty but their true meaning of what was
spoken is shown in decay, where the truth of sealed intent
shows its worth.
