You gave me flowers made of frost
shining in starlight like teardrops
“They look so fragile,” I said.
“No, they’re not,” you replied,
“they’re stronger than they look;
and so are you, dear one.”
You gave me a crown of honeysuckle
and with a single spoke world took
all thorns from it, your spell echoing
in the hushed winter light
The snow is falling and
I taste ashes on my lips
You gave me purple flowers on a summer day
by the riverbank, and a key to your Heart,
saying you’d be back in late fall. But you
returned before then, bearing light and laughter.
When I heard your voice, in that moment when
you returned, was when I realized that…I love you.
Roses going from peach to pink
and back, finding meaning and hints
in flowers–of who you wished to be
to me, and what we could become together.
Grace and sincerity in nine roses, in your eyes
in the deep love you had for me even then.
You had no flowers at first, only poems
to mend a sorrowful Heart first breaking
at losing the dawn and the love thought found.
You had words for the Road and the Masks–
and in was in your poetry (and your smile,
and your Heart) that I found that I loved you.