Heavy, pink, with sweet perfume
Must be the wondrous peony bloom,
My very favorite petal bearer.
Its heady, old-world scent steals out
To every ant that lurks about
And lures them to that flower fair.
They try to peek in, as do I—
When will its brilliance greet the sky?
We watch, wait on appointed time,
And then, a pale magenta shade!
The very sight for which I'd prayed:
I lean in close, inhale—it's fine.
*My mom tells me this was the preferred pronunciation of my grandmother. She loved them, too.
