Joan LeBlanc


The Tulip

In November I held you in the palm of my hand -
Dry, brown, brittle - seeming lifeless.
I tucked you in the garden - carefully.
The dark time was coming.

Is your life suspended when the earth is hard and silent
Frozen in a random moment?
Are you only resting - waiting for that certain sunbeam
To spark the life that has been building with the lengthening of the day?

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