By Barbara Ann Robinson


Arms reaching heavenward, but bow to the sun

Slender and knowing she sternly looks down

At all her sweet cousins so close to the ground

She watches each tiny petal as it sways below

And greets every butterfly with her special hello

With trumpeting blossoms, she heralds Eastertime

Her stature and beauty and gentle sweet smell

Offer love and sweet solace to souls mourning loss.

Her reign although brief as progresses the year but With the next Springtime a Lilly appears

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