lily-of-the-valley

I walk past you, early each morning.

You wouldn't notice---early, each morning, I stop and glance your way.

Since last Tuesday, a few of the lower buds have opened. Tiny, crisp, perfect white petals revealed.
But only a few have opened, the rest remain tightly furled, hiding away their secret crispness,
perfection.

I'll keep stopping. Waiting. Wondering.

When will the day come?


I wait, to pick only one of you.
Perhaps then, I could give you as my gift.
The sole offering.
Sweetness and fragrance, a
tiny
reminder of morning.
(Quiet walks in the morning.
With thoughts in one world alone)
You, little flower, are all I could conceive of to give.
(Asking nothing

in return.)