If These Be Miracles
By John Herlihy

If this be a miracle,
Then surely there are more.
I watched a sleepy morning glory,
Slowly open its petaled door.

If this be a miracle,
Then what else is in store?
The sun rises in the East,
No need to say anything more.

If this be the East Wind,
I recognize it from its sound.
If this be the West Wind,
I hear it blow across the ground.

If this be the bloom of pomegranates,
Safe to say there is nothing but surprise.
Their bell-shaped, scarlet blossoms
Turn into red armored fruit before our eyes.

If these be thistles, with stems cottony, hollow,
Their prickles make their milk difficult to swallow.
Goldfinches seek its nectar hidden beneath a helmet,
Their purple plumage waves their charms like silky velvet.

If this be a rose grinning in delight,
Awakening bravely to the morning light.
What would the rosebud be without its telltale thorn,
Its singular fault mocks the beauty so delicately born.

If this be mulberries hanging from a tree,
They are known to create fireworks in the mouth.
White, red, or even black their adornment be,
Their sweetness craved by children in the Deep South.

If this be a cactus standing nobly alone,
Known to be solitary and lonely prone.
They thrive in scarcity, gathering watery milk,
Sharp thorns on their spines are typical of their ilk.

If these be miracles,
Then others are sure to follow.
One after the other their mystery reveals,
A glorious secret nature quietly conceals.