The honeysuckle vines grow where they’ve been forbidden.
The little flowers disregard the rules.
In gold, ivory, and white they weave a song of belonging.
They sing of mystery and misunderstanding.
They beckon the brave and the tender hearted.
The soft petals send their fragrance up as an offering.
Who will stop and wonder?
Who will notice their beauty and not scoff?
Will you?
Will you put the delicate flowers to your lips?
Will you drink the nectar and give thanks?
Will you revel in the marriage of beauty, strength, and wildness?
I plan to.
I spent too many years trying to bury it.
Now, I must share the glorious bounty and go on singing.

May, 2019. Copyright 2019, Charity Muse