Easter Lily


Poem Commentary

In Memory of My Grandmother, "Gramma"

Easter Lily

Your soft, refreshing fragrance wafted on the air

On that bright, crisp dawn of a June morning

Not a moment too soon would your clean, white petals

Open to announce the beauty of that day…

Which held a specific beauty all its own

Though encompassed the sorrow of which we would soon know.

Those petals so pure and shaped as the trumpet of angels

To regally announce the coming of Christ…for the resurrection

The original metaphor for your given name…

The very reason you were her most cherished flower

So devout in her faith, knew that in heaven she would find

An entire garden filled with you alone.

In solace she lay stricken with cancer and age

A full life she gave and gifted us with her wisdom and strength

A gift brought in for comfort and cheer…for it was you

You who blessed her with the promise to come

A smile she cast as you stayed by her bedside

Showering your heavenly scent upon her.

Not knowing her time was to come…her health seemed to improve

They say it’s because she was at peace and was ready to let go

You were sole witness of her hours, even to the very last

As she committed her spirit to The Almighty Father.

What a bittersweet moment it must have been

While she took her last breath, she must have carried you on her wings

For as she left this earth, your once bright, white petals suddenly fell limp

Lifeless in the soil, which supported your tall, lush, green stem…

That held up your divine trumpeting blooms.

Can you tell me how a flower comes by empathy for a human soul?

The possibility seems too surreal, though possible considering

The symbol of this pristine flora of God’s Creation.

Though when I see Easter lilies in the spring of rebirth

I’m reminded of the one that blessed her in those last days

Letting me know she is at peace and that I shall see her again.


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BadBadBear commented on Easter Lily


An absolutely beautiful work in memory of your Grandmother! The Easter Lily so lovingly identified, with empathy. She is at peace and you can rest in the comfort you will see her again.

The true philosopher and the true poet are one, and a beauty, which is truth, and a truth, which is beauty, is the aim of both.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, American Poet (1803-1882)

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