I dream of times long gone and far-off lands
While gazing at this rare and lovely bloom.
The passion flower I planted here last spring
Has grown and coiled its tendrils far afield,
And climbed beyond supporting wigwam pole.
Beyond my wildest dreams this plant's survived,
Producing flowers month after month, yet still
More come to brighten up November days,
Reminding me of long-past glow of youth.
When faith was strong and future looked so bright.
The symbolism of this flower intrigues.
Ten yellow petals are disciples, but
Not Peter or the one betraying Christ.
A halo round Christ's head, or crown of thorns
I see in double row of filaments
Five stamens are the wounds on Christ's body.
Three styles with flattened heads are nails.
The tendrils represent the whips or scourge
While residue of blooms look like the cup
With stem to represent what Christ sipped from.
With still more blooms appearing daily now
And faith renewed, I'll humbly kneel to pray
And thank the Lord for these my passion flowers.
They grow so well outdoors in northern clime.
Is this a sign of global warning here?
My garden is where I find peace and quiet.
I trace the seasons by the changing plants.
From snowdrops signifying early spring
To holly berries and the fallen leaves
The cycle of our lives is mirrored here.
The clearest message, one I love to hear,
Comes from my lovely deep-blue passion flowers.
Although I'm well into my final years
I still must live my life and blossom forth
And not forget the dreams and hopes of youth.