Showers are a finite thing
By Heather Moss
bell bottom, arced petals
a delicate bucket waits to be filled by a single
drop
the stem, tear-laden
bows in tribute to April’s
trickling days
pastel crowns drift in the breeze
no longer bereft of sustenance
though left to wonder
if a grey deluge
may wash away hard hours
from root to bud to bloom
still the little blossom survives
a carpet of wonder
welcoming the path to summer
Heather Moss
Heather lives in Durham, England and spends most of their time lost in daydreams. They love writing poems that explore the complexities of identity, love, desire, and obsession, and have been featured in anthologies and journals from a selection of presses including Swim Press, Transmuted, Free Verse Revolution and Crossing the Tees.
Instagram: heather_moss_
Photo credit: Seven colors
Apricot Press 