For all the world it was dust,
a discarded no-hoper, crumbling
in a cracked, parched pot;
but saved by a glint of green
effortlessly threw itself into life
under soft autumn skies.
Uncurling leaf followed leaf
smooth as flecked marble,
shiny as leather, creamily veined.
Pressed for time, bud-furled parasols
set free flowers of crimson lake
to burst open all spring,
tossing back defiant heads
into the scudding breeze.
© Sue Burley
(Published in "The Dawntreader", Issue 028, Autumn 2014)