The Eleventh Petal
āIn the quiet garden of unnamed seasons,
āwhere morning light spills like honey over leaves,
āan eleventh petal once rose gently toward the sunā
ānot to take the light,
ābut to test whether the sky still remembers spring.
ā
āGolden cloth moved like a field of mustard
āwhen the wind passed softly through the branches,
āand the trees bent slightly,
āas if an ancient forest were greeting
āa traveler who carried sunlight in quiet hands.
ā
āAmong the green constellations of leaves
āa small yellow bloom was liftedā
ālike a star being returned to the heavens
āfrom which it had secretly fallen.
ā
āSome petals are not flowers at all,
ābut lanterns hidden inside gardens,
āguiding wandering hearts the way
āa cave once held light for seekers
āwhen the world outside had forgotten mercy.
ā
āAnd perhaps that is the mystery of the eleventh petalā
āa silent cavern of calm,
āwhere storms pause at the entrance
āand even restless thoughts learn to whisper.
ā
āThe garden notices when that petal grows quiet.
āThe branches wait longer for footsteps.
āEven the sunlight hesitates on the leaves,
āas if asking the wind:
ā
āWhere has the brightness wandered today?
ā
āYet seasons are patient storytellers.
āThey know that petals sometimes change colors
ānot because the garden failed them,
ābut because the sky is preparing
āa deeper shade of spring.
ā
āSo the soil remains warm,
āthe trees remain watchful,
āand somewhere in the hush between leaves
āa quiet gardener still believes
ā
āthat when the eleventh petal smiles again,
āthe garden will bloom
āin colors it has never learned before. šæš¼
#Naturelovers#Arts#Petalstheeleventh#alonetime#alone
ā
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