The lilies that we planted aren’t like those
that Jesus said dressed better than a king,
nor did they have fine fragrance for a nose,
each one a yellowing and wilted thing.
Not youthful beauties, but decrepit hags,
an ignorant gardener would have thrown them out,
yet we fed them fresh soil from our bags,
because you knew new loveliness would sprout:
“The true life is within, and is unseen”
you said, and though some might regard it silly,
philosophizing on what plants can mean,
I knew you weren’t just speaking of a lily.
Unseen, unlike a king with splendor crowned,
life stems from bulbs we buried in the ground.

Mario A. Pita

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