Lilian Harrington // TITLE


Rooted in thick mud

Yet swelling buds

Unashamed to the world

Still reveal

The wonders of their butter soaked velvet



With soft innocence

The waterlily balances

Between the chilling pond

And crisp spring air


It never forgets

Its roots

Yet choosing to show sweet-smelling flowers

Rather than the muck from which it started

Thin it spreads

Thinner than intended

But manages to keep its blossom afloat


Echoing in eternity

With infinity cooing over

speckled skylines,

Cupped up to be sipped

By a mouth that ripples

With the rivers trickling into the ponds.