There is in my parlor, a sere, skinny stick
rising above a plant that looks sick.
It stands there for months, lone and defiant,
I think it is dead, it's not even pliant.
Then, in a burst, a resurgent epiphany,
gorgeous gems appear, as if from Tiffany.
Nature brings life to a dried out stake;
orchids so perfect, they almost seem fake.
For thirteen years this Phoenix has stood,
Looking like a carved piece of wood.
At varying seasons, I do not know why,
a resurrection occurs to dazzle the eye.
If there is analogy in this to man,
it might be that, in the end, we can.
A Flowering Twig by Ken Kenigsberg from A Flowering Twig booklet published by The Feral Press.
Reprinted with publisher's permission.