The White Flower
She wore a white flower in her hair
So delicate, a breath of air
She moved through the room like spring sunlight
Filtering through drapes of gauze
The soul of grace, I should have known
That lithe spirit would soon have flown
Rather than to stay rooted in the depths
Of this mundane world.
There are things too ethereal
To really be corporeal
Was she real? Or reverie? A flitting shade,
A vision only I had made?
The white flower taunts my memory
A gardenia? A peony?
It grows outside the window of my sickroom
Wafting a perfume to soothe
And as I fade from this mortal plain
To be freed from my earthly pain
Remember to wear a white flower
In remembrance of me, who was she.
Image Credit » https://pixabay.com/en/geddes-rd-wa-gardenia-jasminoides-651864/ by punnamjai