By me, St. Peter
It’s shelled in her soft vibrant hues
some of white and some of blue.
Her pedals hug and twist together,
a sheath of gentle leather.
I want to see inside.
Warm waves of layers tightly woven
an ocean blue of unbounded day.
Her stem stands tall and unbroken
armed thorns keep those at bay.
I watch her unravel as I leave,
For the sun, but not for me
I dream and wonder of
what she hugs in her hold;
maybe it is love
a golden passion so bold
to give me my light
and shed the darkness of night.
Inside could be anything,
Even hope’s feathered wings
And the will to earn diamond rings.
Should I pluck her pedals,
Should I have untouched dreams,
Or should I create light for her to see?