Big bright peony hanging lowly
You began as a bud and revealed yourself slowly

Smelling sweetly beneath the afternoon sun,
Calling bumble bees, their pollen spun
Upon their legs, in their little sacs
They work fiercely, tiny wings on their backs

I wait each year for your blossom to bloom
I pick one flower and place it in my room
In a vase by my bed, where your perfume lingers
As an elixir for the soul, its scent like singers
Whispering, “Sleep well, my friend, good soul to the earth; tonight you shall dream, tomorrow you’ll mirth.”