The Peony. A poem by Helen Bovaird Ryan

Tight circles of creamy corolla, curling inwards
tinged pink, a sign of living, the hue of life.
Wispy, frilly buds, all nudging, vying,
a cocoon, a nest of young birds, beaks wide open
eager to receive a crumb of food, comfort even

Cherry, fleshy petals imbricate
this inner bowl of beauty, isolate
and shield the delicate, but do they grieve
each fledgling, each soft carpel sadly lost?
History alone will reckon that premature cost

Nature’s success is measured in the helixes of time.
Each spiral softens, lessens pain, renews and heals.
Next year this rose will bloom and grow again,
Pluto’s eternal gesture of compassion.
Hope will drive this peony to reopen

[Written in my garden, looking at my blossoming Bowl of Beauty Peony, South Dublin, 1st June 2020]

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Helen Bovaird Ryan teaches Creative Writing to various community groups in South Dublin. She holds a Masters Degree in Creative Writing from Trinity College Dublin. Check out FB Helen’s Writing Workshops.