"pale cousin..."

ahh, ranunculus, pale cousin of the vibrant
buttercup...you unfold yourself in delicate
layers, papery petals so barely there and
yet so breath-takingly present in your shyness...

such a brief spring and you are gone from
field and garden while your bold relative
languishes in open field and windswept
meadows full of hay and alfalfa drying in
the summer sun...

to capture you when you are neither young
nor old, but mindless of the dawning day or
setting sun, is to know the breath of morning
and feel the cool touch of dew upon the grass

wrap your stems in wide satin ribbon and
you are an honored guest at the wedding
an offering in the quaking hand of a bride,
the something that is both old and new...

your gentle beauty is the blush on a maiden's
cheeks, the first light beyond the dawn, the
rustle of taffeta, the song of a lark, the
whisper of toe shoes....the sound of a kiss....