As if in benediction, one last lily blossomed today,
its petals a delicate pink, its center shades of lemon
and lime, glowing with an internal light. Six stamens,
also glowing, rose from its heart bearing offerings
of gold, in thanks, I believe, for the privilege of being.
I kneel before it to peer into its face, to take in
its silent song. This is the garden’s last blossom.
Now the wildflowers will sing their autumn songs
and I will dance to their bright tunes. But here,
before this lily, I am, for a long while, silent.
And at last, all I can do is dare to stroke
its petals as I whisper my grateful farewell.