Temporary as Orchids
And somehow, in the midst of winter,
there is hothouse heat.
Warmth and color and texture,
beautiful. Glorious. Temporary as orchids,
and just as surprising.
About this poem.
This morning, I stumbled on this picture from a trip to Florida years ago to watch my son graduate. There were some botanical gardens there and I took about a zillion pictures. This one lept out, bright and yellow while the snow outside makes the whole world white.
So a poem about that. Or a love poem. As always, you choose.