White lily

A lily in the field, white and blooming, fragrance of a new born wish for loving, half forgotten now come back. An old innocence, the pure offering of regenerated life taken up, inhaled, possessed. White hope for better times, the open petals draw in the curious bee for learning, lust and longing. The merry making flower in a bride’s bouquet, it holds out hands to all young lovers and also gives some comfort to those who’ve lost. A sheltered refuge from what is cruel, the leaves spread shade and warming shadow. Proud and noble blazing light, a shining beacon on our stones, a gentle cover for our monuments. A rich and worthy guide to love and life full of wisdom and of grace, its lessons cannot be forgotten. I have held a lily to my breast and felt its essence sink through my skin to permeate my heart and soul, like white ink into darker waters once raging like the sea, now calm as deepened pools. There it lies unmoved, entwined in every sinew. No flower is in front of me but at the very core of who and what I am, the white lily blooms forever.