The Purpose
How beautiful
the pink camellia rosettes
unwind their buds
in February
and sit on their waxy bushes
like ornaments on a gown.
I would no more pick them
than take words from a poem;
I would no more change them
for another flower
than change my love.
They have been born in February
to call back the hummingbird
to call back the cardinal
to call me from my sheaf of words
to look again.