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To write about love, war, peace, or flowers;
or the intertwined fate surrounding each.
The thirst of war, the brace of its powers.
Or the love that stays masked, still out of reach.
The sacred dove descends through the spirit,
covering the land and sea in its grace.
Perhaps when flowers sing, you can hear it,
as with the chrysanthemums you can taste.
Hold your love tight before expiration.
Relinquish your salvage bound to despise.
Your heart stands firm, open to reconciliation.
Remember the flowers and they will rise.
For difference lie in heart, not in mind.
Let love, war, peace, and flowers be your sign.




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