…on their funeral pyre

The artistry of the sunrise, with her feather soft brushes
she paints the tightly held buds
transforming them into blossoming beauty
a slow, gentle unfurling amidst dewdrops and shadows
petal after petal aching to bloom
surrendering to the morning
whispering promises to the earth and the overarching sky
for time has no currency here and death does not reign
their roots woven below the surface
creating complex webs, highways and byways
that exist in constant darkness
just as the bones of winter rest in silence until their time
flowers, seemingly fragile
have the blood of warriors flowing through their veins
they rise and fall in time with the seasons
their commitment to resilience and freedom
their scent lingering in the air long after their departure
a gift to all who pass here, who breathe it in, like life
and find memories strangely whispering from beyond
blooming in hearts and souls
where they once were marked as lost
still blossoming on their funeral pyre
© Ann Bagnall