A Picked Flower
That flower that I picked for you
One dark night from the forest floor,
Trembling in the wake of a faint, wild tune
Had drops of dew clinging to its petals
And was glowing brightly in the moon.
Bird’s wings brushed it once,
And bees rested in the silk of its petals.
It was more beautiful when it stood alone;
Now it will die while nestling in your hair.
buy Lëaf Ednïwinga’s book on amazon: Em: A Picture-Book Fable
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photograph by freestock.org