Wide open to the world, to life, to butterflies and sweet breezes,
They stand tall and strong on sturdy stems.
Some invented a graceful curve to entice the touch of a finger tip.
They smell of spring, sunshine and new beginnings.
These are past their prime and yet…
The saturated, sometimes spicy and vibrant hues
Of the young bloom is still there
But tempered by subtle shading and nuances.
The same softness is multiplied in countless unfurled petals,
Some wearing their scars without shame,
As the fading flowers stretch and open up for more light,
Living their last days fully.
Cup a flower in your hands,
Run a thumb gently across the petals
And you will hear the ruffles of a skirt,
The pages of a beloved book
And endless butterfly kisses
Echo in your palms.
unbuttoned or undone 
This is so beautiful I am awed
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Thank you. I am not so sure the praise is deserved, but I appreciate it. Faded can be beautiful.
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If this is what you write in Winter I’m dead keen on reading what happens in Spring!
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Thank you John. What happens in Spring… It’s just a matter of time. Almost here.
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Les renoncules cherchent toujours les bisous du papillon, meme en hiver?
Encore vraiment superbe.
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Il n’y a pas de saison pour les baisers de papillons…tu ne savais pas?
Et merci pour le compliment.
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Those flowers are beautiful. I like the deep red especially
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Thank you Noel. I find them nearly irresistible no matter their colour. They are in the buttercup family by the way.
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Beautiful flowers, beautiful words. What a pleasure to have a preview of spring.
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Thank you Good Helper woman. Take heart, Spring is almost here. Smile.
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The picture is beautiful, Em, but the last stanza says it all. Loved the images and sensations you painted with your words there. It was almost like touching the blossom. Great post.
Paul
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Thank you Paul. Next time you have a chance, touch a flower, see how it feels and get your ear way down and listen. As you know, I am all about sensations.
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You have a gift – this is exquisite
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Thank you Marcus. You are quite kind and generous.
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