Jasmine

The greys and browns are all around,

but lightning stars of yellow strike

to break monotony of rime

that seals the prevalence of death.

How dare these petals risk the sharps,

some flimsy tissue crepe in sun;

what permit issued, warmer time,

appearance counter winter prime?

At least the lauded snowdrop bells -

supposed as signs of season’s turn -

present a thick waxed hardened shell,

break crystals blanket, ready dressed.

Yet here against the honeyed blocks

these sparkles brighter than the stone;

this Roman candle shower, stark

amidst the loom of bitter pall.

A magic carpet, hanging wall,

the Persians thought a gift from God;

but where the flaw, one thread bare missed

as blossom tides us to the spring?

This contradiction to the norm

is what declares the globe a place

where unexpected signs of grace

invade the drab, and real can change.