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Ode to Angus-Og

Miss Leo

I thank you God, that the bud within me opened
and this small, frail flower crept up out of it.
There was a time when I thought the light of Your
grace would never shine upon it, summoning it from
its formlessness into finality.

Some mock my flower; I can understand that
They are thinking of flowers like roses,
burning silently in the sunlight, or lush
sprawling orchids, reptilian in their very
own sensuality...or the brazen trumpetting of
pumpkin flowers...

My flower will never be that; it's a winter
flower and winter flowers are the salt and frost
of beauty. Sometimes a trace of blue will darken
it as though the sky had brushed the pallid of
porcelain off its petals, and sometimes it will
blush a little, reflecting some dawn as yet beyond
my vision...

While as for fragrance...well...there are those
who say it has no fragrance..that too I understand;
The beloved yields but to the beloved, and for me
there is much fragrance; geranium, nasturtium never
roses, but sometimes when the spirit finds a balance,
the faintest, thin-as-honey smell of sweet alyssum...

Yes, indeed, I thank you god that the bud within me
opened; how dread my shame, sore my penance,
had I brought you no blossom...