often without our knowing,
As an opaque vase fills to the brim from quick pouring, Fills and trembles at the edge
yet does not flow over, Still holding and feeding the stem of the contained flower." ~The Shape of Fire by Will Rogers
Once upon a time, a soft spoken lady of the gentle old way asked a flower if on its edges she could stay. The flower nodded in sweet solemnity, yet asked for her indemnity. "I am not so perfect upon close inspection," the flower unequivocally whispered, "and yet, that fact is my perfection. If you can walk out to the edge of my being and still roll back to the soft perfect heart of me, round, soft and embracing like a sunset at sea, you will know yourself and you will understand me." The soft spoken lady waited with her eyes cast upon the pink bloom then smiled, "It is your daring to show the edges of perceived imperfection that makes me swoon. I grant you light and my steps will be bright upon your silken petals."
A Faerytale poem for all of you with love from you know who...