Morning-Glory (Rubiyat Sonnet) Poem by Gert Strydom

Its blue pure perfect colour is the first we see
but there is a price to this beauty
it does overgrow anything near to it
yet its hue holds a kind of tranquillity,

with its petals a small trumpeting thing
where as we do recede its hue is darkening
glorious it does follow the day,
its absolute colour is always striking

if we are near or even far away,
optical tricks on the mind it does play
as if this flower is somehow holy,
to our senses unspoken words it does say

its delightful shimmering radiance
is seen at only a single glance.

© Gert Strydom