Precious flower budded.
Pastel pink, with scarlet skirt.
Sat almost in an acorn cup.
Shut tight.
Dressed in waxy coat.
Shrugging off the raindrops, as they splash back.
Exploding from the pool of slush.
Once known as the garden.
Locked up inside new life.
She opens gradually.
Face looking for the springtime sun.
Seeking novel inspiration.
To cheer in new seasons.
Reflective in restoration.

A subtle buzz.
Hums its own tune.
His pollen sacks bear no heaviness.
He can’t bear it.
Look closely.
You can maybe see his tears.
Perhaps he’ll starve.
Maybe his hive can’t thrive.
Flowers may be once again be kissable.
When winters rain has died. 
(C) Livvi 2014


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