“It isn’t as bad as you sometimes think it is.”
Gordon B. Hinckley
The dead stalks of my peony lay on the frozen ground.
All color dashed away to dust -- twas just a lifeless mound.
What comfort could this quietus give unto me at all?
It was a bleak reminder of my mortally slow crawl.
A melancholy fool was I, for underneath the land
My peony still slumbered, preparing something grand.
I looked upon my peony this morning to behold
Its sudden reaching to the sky, with globes of pastel gold.
A touch of warmth, a bit of rain, had given it the power
To once again revive and create flower after flower.
The world is full of peonies, and so I need to strive
To see them ev’rywhere I go and keep my hope alive.