a poem in my pocket

Oh, the sweet promise
of budding lilacs which
soon bloom like true love;
delicate, sensuous flower
all glorious and lovely
with a heady scent.

But, it’s no surprise
when clouds blow in
and heavy rains beat
fragile blossoms down;
or the fragrance simply
fades with the season.

Wait, for the lilacs,
when love grows dormant,
for time comes around
and what faded is renewed;
dry twigs will green again
and flower more profusely.

If, it would endure,
love must be rooted
like a spreading lilac bush
in the nourishing earth,
anchored in something
greater than itself.