Opening
Not every yard has a garden,
Neatly mulched, lined in stone,
Sprinkled with seeds
And sprouting roses.
Where you’ll find gardens,
You may find a peace bloom.
It’s tall and it’s orange and it’s —
Late to blossom.
Revealed under the goddess of dawn,
It draws inward at dusk,
Until caught in the frost,
When you see the peace rose
Compelled to close.
Its petals painted in still life.
And yet the bloom dreams
Of opening.
A Poem Written by Melissa F. Kaelin
