A Covenant of Flowers

On loan from a distant world,
your borrowed beauty wakes
on spring’s eve,

Yellow trumpets singing
holy anthems to
the bones of the earth,

Summoning wonders and powers
and unfixed memories mere
science cannot abide:

This secret of the universe—
She in high office owns
a tireless eye for beauty.

Michael James Fitzgerald

2 thoughts on “A Covenant of Flowers

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