Classic Poem

To have reached
the ultimate top
of the stalk,
single and tall;
to hang like a bell
through sheer weight
of oneself;
to have six petals,
refusing the straight
for the curve,
dipping pin-pricks
around the horizon;
to have six tongues
which, however the mood
of the wind may blow,
refuse to clap into sound;
and to keep withal
one's finest marvel,
one's passionate specks
invisible:
Tiger lily,
if I bow,
it is not
in imitation;
it is
in recognition
of true being.