The Flower

bowed stalk, flower borne a heavy bud
reaching for sunlit days without panic
a slide for ants and beetles fair
too pretty for a butterfly to bear
between stones the stem did grow
before frost had fully finished
silky petals the color of maiden lips
from which the morning dew drips

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She Writes Chaos

Polyamorous girl, homeschool mom, poetry writer. Here are my thoughts, judge them as you will.