Opening so slowly,
Breathing out it’s first,
Opening it’s petals to the air.
Soft with touch of velvet,
Stems of fluted green,
Pollen held for bees that they may care.
Scent that floats on warm breeze,
Colours catch the sun,
Nature’s pallet daubed in pinks and blues.
Springing up between blades,
Yearning for the sun,
Gold and orange shades and subtle hues.
Heath Gunn
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem