by Alice Woodrome
Soon Lilies day will come again,
though winter was too cold.
She'll have her season in the sun,
then yield to marigold.
What courage must it take each spring
to make another show.
Knowing fate will cut her down
when bloom begins to go.
I think she fights the dying,
for living is too dear.
She does not give her life away.
It's taken every year.
But still she warms to April sun,
and gathers all her strength;
still proudly pushes up the earth
and stands to her full length.
Then opens up her fragile flower
for all the world to see
and shouts in shades of brilliant hue,
"Death will not conquer me."