by Mary E. Lowd
March 2, 2021
Her wings askew
Like petals gold
The fairy’s flight
From love withheld
Freezes her
Statue still; statue cold
Yet spring’s delight
Warm sap like blood
Enlivens her
And stillness softens
Coldness yields
Like nymphs of old
No longer fairy
She becomes a flower in the field
* * *
From the book: Some Words Burn Brightly: An Illuminated Collection of Poetry
Next poem: The Gorgon Flower
Previous poem: Implication