Sheathed in emerald shining cone
But peeking through to gaze
Upon the glittered, folding hues
Cloaked by morning's haze
Birthed from bitterness to doubt
Disquieted soul be shaken
Make ready, let quietus come
To some, and let others awaken.
Then lilting phrase arose to flight
And cast it's congenial spell
Upon each wretched, dismal bud
To witness each one swell
Their shawls removed and scattered
They unfold to hail the breeze
Their bright hearts on a rude display
Vulnerable just to please
And yet they sleep in fragrance
Their repose is soft and slight
Their purpose in the breath they have
Lies underneath their light.
Their moment ends in turmoil
In sweeping rains or gale
And yet their wombs will soon emerge
With fruit which will prevail
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