Red-fire,
petal soft,
brushed against her cheek, her lips, her lashes.
Eyes closed…
quiet in beauty;
sensation of
lovely
understood,
experienced with each stroke..
Knowing it would last but one day.
No sadness though,
for she enjoyed the flutter of each petal against her skin
accepting the inevitable timing
of closure.
As natural as the sun rising and
leaving at the end of the day,
another beauty would be exposed in seasoned time.
A gentler more muted beauty,
unlike full bloom.
An intricate design of ardent hope
one can not see…
until life folds and makes way for another.
Pat Guy
©2011
Beautiful, Pat :)
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