White Flower
(for Sarah)

A gull flies through the falling snow,
Pale grey in white, with weightless wings;
It's path one could not hope to know,
Nor what strange winds the weather brings.

The drifts now mount the chain-link fence
That wanders past the garden wall;
The whirling sky still whispers whence
There comes the distant seagull's call.

A flower sleeps in innocence
Of time and place, as snowflakes fall,
Yet through them hears the faint incense
Of music under fog's soft pall.

The flower waits for space to grow,
But listens as the lost bird sings;
Invisible as seasons flow,
It smiles and dreams of distant things.

--Megan Morris, meikundayo@yahoo.com