The Genus of Peonies

Sonnet # 155

How oft I rise to peek mine eyes

To see are they yet a’bloom?

The Queens of late Spring, early June,

A Masquerade unfolds

Trumpet-like an orchestra

Ornate canopies assume

The Genus of my Peonies

Lies in their sweet perfume

Never were such blooms so bold

Flirtatiously adorned in Pink

They blush the morn’ away; they say

T’is better a short span lived

Dancing in the morning light

Ruffles catch admiring eye

T’is the crowning of the summer

When our ladies must say goodbye

Bowing low a last chorale

A shadow veils their fate

Eternal beauty evades our glance

Alas it’s much too late

Sunlight dims, nature’s curtains close

Evening turns the key

How swiftly life passes by to say

Wait not in vain for me

The buds of May were sent to thee

In passages of time

To behold anew before thy season is through

The unfolding of the Divine