The Triumph of WIld Flowers

Somewhere under the cruel snow, flowers live,
far tougher than their frail fronds would have you believe,
they lie deep, their silent beauty patient,
more patient than mere humans,
waiting to emerge like love left for dead,
beautifully abused, but still there,
knowing that seasons change.
The sun grows warm,
and the best things of God
can only be postponed,
never, ever killed.

About this Poem

Could be nature. Could be love. Could be Faith. Works for most things, actually.

The picture is of bachelor buttons, taken last summer in my own yard. Truly, my favorite flower.

Tom