The miracle of a peony

The rose is the queen
and has always been,
will most people say
at the end of May.
But I do adore
by far a lot more
- for her I will pine -
a beauty divine
with a strange pedigree:
the peony.

What a beauty she is:
a circle of bliss,
a voluptuous kiss,
the petals abundant,
not a detail redundant,
the colour exploding,
the form a foreboding,
the scent a confession,
a promise of passion.

Don't ask me to plead
for the rose and her seed.
I will always be
enchanted to see
the miracle of
a peony.

June 3O, 2o15

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