Cyclamen  

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)