Maiden in White

She seemed to float
in flowing gown of white
through the gardens
in the misty morning light.

With gentle hands,
her fingers brushed,
skimmed over the blossoms
with celestial touch;

the blooms self-muted their hues
as if infused with her purity
until all the world resembled heaven 
for a moment but affording
a glimpse of eternity,

and as she departed,
long, fair hair slow-dancing
into the horizon,
the flowers returned 
to their former colors
and the breeze dissipated. 

No witness but I.
No photograph taken. 
The maiden in white, 
in my mind’s eye, 
eternally painted. 

I wish I had noticed at the time
the one single rose who refused to revert;
I could have at least penned a poem
to gift the hope to others. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

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