Circles in the Garden

Circles in the Garden

Circles move in the garden.

The flower folds into death,

seeks the ground and covers the warm earth,

molding with the leaves

swept from the tree onto the path,

making room for the new bud.

The strawberry's sunny face turns red,

the sweet pea is perfumed

the honey suckle sweetened

as the circle moves

and the end becomes

the beginning.

The flower

nipped in the bud

dies slowly,

coloring the room,

singing a heart,

joying the dancing boy and girl,

catching the girl's hair in the color

that sparkles her eyes.

As the sun moves into another rising,

flowers open to beauty

and close to death.

In this fantasy of time 

a young girl strips the petals

from the daisy of her youth

and one by one drops her innocence

and opens into a woman.

A rose blooms

into the fragrance of a boys' desire,

and every breath

quickens him to manhood.

The flower lays tangled

in the memory of years,

pressed against the pages 

of time, it waits

and grows a memory.

If a flower is plucked

by some raging storm,

its seeds will set another bloom,

its petals will enrich the ground,

and nothing will be lost or forgotten.

In spring new flowers will color the hills,

and from a mound

of plain, brown earth

life will return.