After a spell of wicked weather,
In which wayward wind ruffled your feathers
And battered your stems, to knock you flat –
You coax petals out, and stretch like a cat
In nonchalant grace, smiling so brightly
That no one would guess that your leaves were unsightly,
Whirled in a dervish and whipped out of place,
Lying at strange angles in odd spot and space.
Peony, may I have some of your art,
The courage to bloom with my storm-battered heart?