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Lily
No man can truly force his bloom inside a sheltered womb or fool the virgin's creed with false remorse. She's wise to wait, to hide her perfumed lips, the lily's spathe, the need to break the husk. A patient flower grows the sower's seed affluently. No greed stands tall or bends. It hoards and stows the innocence. The musk of haughty men offends humility. A pure wind blows, meanders through a field where no one's been and learns that lilies love when there is peace. They know to stay below the ground till then, await the sun's hot tiger breath to cease. The calla reaps the gift of calm release. ©2000 Peggy Putnam Owen |