Fragrance of Gratitude

Expressing gratitude, a flower’s life

Whether caressed by hand or cut by a knife

Colorful and tender, always open and giving

Amongst thorns, silently preaching and forgiving

Until the self blooms, the mind remains a thorn

Where happiness is quickly shorn

Releasing odor attractive to flies, not bees

As the nectar drops dry, there comes dis-ease

Flowers intoxicate when in bloom

Gratitude lives, even when cut, as heavenly perfume

We are bitter green buds with fingers closed

The sweetness of inner beauty cannot be exposed

When hands open to give, fingers turn into petals

Which hold onto nothing, and the silt of memory cannot settle

The fragrance that wafts from a giver who lives in gratitude

Becomes light as a scent adopted by air, it’s forever pursued