Bernadine LortisThey sway on stems so slender—
touching their sisters, shy as kindergartners
bending to tie each other´s shoes—
you want to warn the wind
for which they´re named.
Cherished for their timing, blooming
not in spring when competition would be fierce
but when most perennials have gone to sleep
Aphrodite´s tears in Greek Myth
float silvery pink, delicate above dying ferns,
flutter away with the last of Monarchs
waving farewell to Adonis
zealous for his promised return
as dormancy draws its final draft
and winter waits to take its post.
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