The bruised red velvet
petals of the three red roses
curled in tight; in solidarity; against
the invasion of their inner selves
Not so the brazen lily, who bared its soul
its fiery orange tongue; resplendent
Soft, pink lacy fingers of the
unassuming astilbe
reached out in harmony
All held their breath; lay still
on the crisp white linen
Click; click the only sound
With a long gentle sigh
they relaxed; knowing their life
was recorded for ever
by the photographer’s eye