The seed was buried
Forsaken through the winter
Hidden into the earth
A poem in the drawer.

Then over a morning dew
Unseen hands of beauty
Delivered the Lily anew
Its glow of purity.

As it grew fast and firm
The flower would soon become
The season's blast of charm
That draw with its perfume.

The time of the story came
When hands now full of shame
Pulled out Lily's apart
And broke also my own heart.

But flowers are never ceasing
Since they connect with earth
And shalow they rest purifying
Exhaling when they rebirth.