At last the flower that has withered on the vine
a million times and fallen before her time
shall open in her fullness, showered
by a thousand gentle rains,
comforted by the strong arms
of a second sun.
The lingering scent of a hundred lifetimes
will rise up and fill us with joy. Satisfied,
we will be complete, and stand,
after all that has passed
between us, wholly pure,
without need or want.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Cryssa