Daylily
To a cup of wulong tea

In the late afternoon,
When comes my hour
Of melancholy — a gold-hued time
Steeped in memory, and a
Sadness that cannot ever
Quite be expunged —
I turn to something
That is its equal:

Kinship in color, in depth,
In bittersweet astringency,
And in a fullness like the sun —
A mote-filled beam
Falling upon my face,
Piercing my gloom and
Dispelling the Past (for today) —
Blossoming into a single golden flower.

And with that opening bud,
That smile of the Iron Goddess,
I rise and am at peace.

Talbot Hook
 
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Talbot Hook would be pleased to hear them.