I am a fickle mistress;
In other days, your colors would not call.
Sweet whites so different from the Winter's snow,
All close, embraced within each others arms.
The grays and greens of faerie drapings,
Awaiting small magic hands to cut and sew.
My prejudice is lifted as now, the lowly weed~~
A joy to see, decked out in crystal beaded finery.
And sturdy regimental soldiers,
Push forth from under skeletal leaves.....
A delicate and frilly denizen sparkles,
Amongst the remnants of the Fall.
Soft, now, and melting earthward.
And one lone bud,
Quite brazen, waiting,
For the sun of Spring.
Thus life returns in moments
Hidden and unwitnessed.
But proudly shines
In garden hidden~~
Not the soil I know.