The Purpose

How beautiful

the pink camellia rosettes

unwind their buds

in February

and sit on their waxy bushes

like ornaments on a gown.

I would no more pick them

than take words from a poem;

I would no more change them

for another flower

than change my love.

They have been born in February

to call back the hummingbird

to call back the cardinal

to call me from my sheaf of words

to look again.

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