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Shy, waiting, viable buds huddle near the stem,
clustered, tempting flora-loving eyes.
One glorious bell-shaped bloom has come and gone.
Now, lying there in fuzzy little clump,
they hint each day at peek of flower form.

I've seen before such buds turn brown and die,
but there they are, however slow and small,
increasing almost imperceptibly.
Forgive the disappointments of the past;
anticipate the snowy, bell-shaped bloom.

Oh, could they bloom into a burst of bells,
white, showy, to reward our patient mode,
and reinforce the lesson we must learn?
What is magnificent is worth the wait,
and know the elements of withered past
are no more likely than bright blooms to rule the day.

04/23/2015 Carol Welch
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