A Flower In Winter by Forever Endeavor
A flower withers,
As a gust of wind blows,
And its once ruby red petals,
Turn brown and gold,
And one by one,
Each petal falls,
Due to the treacherous sound,
Of winter’s call.
A flower in winter,
The only one that stands,
Is thrashed by the blizzard,
That freezes its once green hands.
Its roots cling to the earth,
With all their might,
And waits for all to be calm,
Vulnerable for a ray of sunlight.
The next day,
There is nothing left,
But a broken stem,
Amongst the snow covered plain,
But soon the snow will melt,
The sun will shine,
A new bud is born,
This flower will bloom again.
Dried Hydrangea from our own garden with purple cone flowers.
First discovered in Japan, the name hydrangea comes from the Greek “hydor,” meaning water, and “angos,”meaning jar or vessel. This roughly translates to “water barrel,” referring to the hydrangea’s need for plenty of water and its cup-shaped flower. A beautiful lush flower.
Here are arrangements about our home created of flora foraged from our nearby woods by Ivy Conway www.thepleasing posy.com
Kitchen, crisp growth from by the river.
Entry hall, delightfully stark budding stems.
Living Roo, acorns, berries and long curly stems.
And in the dining room, a dried flower arrangement from Tiny Hearts farm at the Cold Spring Farmers Market.
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