On the Death of a Lily in Munirka

When a flower is tricked to bloom too soon, 
the secrets of its bud unfurling,
it does not see that small, dark eye
that murders frame by frame;

and all things tend towards this end
for life is a silver fish leaping,
like tiny suns its scales burn
as it bends its back upstream.

Then is revealed the truth of the thing
when comes the final flourish:
what grace and courage beauty bears
when darkness drags it down.

©Abigail Wyatt, 2012



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