Beloved, what is my love? I know not from where it came The gardener set it in the soil of my cells As a secret chest buried in earth What mysterious key unlocks it? If indeed there is one. Decades dormant, through sporadic rain Tender shoots sprang quickly, then withered I do not know what to hope for. I see not what is hidden in my being. For all I knew, love was myth. Things are beyond me. Until then the earth shifted, Cracking the crust, And a spring issued forth nearby. A simple trickle began Seeping through the earth And the sleepy, finicky seed, Came to life and rose. Quickly its stalk stood, A bud perched gracefully on its crown, Of a variety yet unknown to me. With arresting beauty, While nimble to sprout, Its bloom is slow, deliberate, patient. The spring pours in its life. Year to year petals obediently unravel, With them comes depth, color, pattern. So mysterious in its goodness, Simple yet with unfathomed depth. Strong in its delicacy. Who knows the greatness of full bloom. It’s maturation, a grace in itself. A life giving revelation each day. Never will it pass, Never will it fade, It will be forever.