Unflowered.
Sunk in the drifts of gross need
she sits clothed
with mud in a winter-raw bed.
Cradled in wait her thin coat
drenched with rain
shrinks in the cell of neglect.
Poor little un-flowered seed
needs to feel
the lift of warm attention.
One lost sweet-pea pod knows
life can grow
if from frost she is rescued.
I finger her miniature frame
then shelve her
until Spring says she is ready.