Guest guest Posted January 28, 2006 Report Share Posted January 28, 2006 In the essence and presence, meanderings and identification of who I have declared myself, I am unfit to resolve how birds and butterflies fly nor do I understand how the climate acclimates to a January winter in Ohio, the how and why my lilies-of-the-valley have a three-inch growth, though some say there is a global warming, This year my deep purple Phaphiopedilum with the yellow dots, has two flowers, one is in full bloom, the other is just growing, last year they did not bloom, though I always have names for them, as this flower reminds me of the Martian in the old Looney Tunes cartoons. I think I'll call the big fellow Fred #2, and the little one, well, when she's a little older, I'll listen to her name. Did you know some tribes of American Indians never gave names? And my small red cyclamen is growing very well in my cold bedroom though the new flowers are growing pink and white. So in the matter of how flowers grow, I can say I have become my Poem, my own flowering and I seem to have a lot in common with lilies orchids and hibiscus. I have grown into my Poet skin, quite well indeed, with all my variations Of colour as well as shades in light and dark. And if I should die tonight, I shall have called a truce in my life; I shall have loved enough and drank well from this chalice, Though much of it I have drunk in Absentia. Looking for myself in places I have Called " You " . Today shall have been a good day to die, to pass away softly in the night. Please do not bring me flowers, just listen to your still-beating heart, and notice the skip. Love, Ana Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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