The Promise of Flowers Yet to Bloom (a poem)

The Promise of Flowers Yet to Bloom

©2018 Louise Gallagher

A flower lost itself to fall today.

Autumn fell upon its delicate petals
vanishing all memory of summer’s heat
as frost nipped its buds
and winter whispered with wicked glee,
I will see you soon.

A flower lost itself to fall today.

And with autumnal grace, golden leaves drifted down
into that place where winter’s cold embrace
lurks at the edge of lengthening shadows
creeping silently across leaf covered ground
lying fallow in anticipation of arctic winds yet to blow.

In autumn’s falling colours
the earth prepares
to awaken to black on white images
of frosty mornings
kissed with winter’s icy breath.

A flower lost itself to fall today.

Its petals fell effortlessly
as with one final sigh of relief
the flower dropped its seeds to cast
the promise of flowers yet to bloom
upon the wind.

And I wait in this liminal space
where autumn falls all around.

In the midst of golden leaves
and cast off petals
strewn haphazardly upon the ground
I stand hopeful in the shimmering possibilities
that awaken with every changing season.


The creative process fascinates me. I awaken unsure of what will appear once I touch my fingers to the keyboard and give myself up to trusting in the process. In that letting go of expectation, space is created for the muse to flow through me, creating space for that which is yearning to be expressed.

This morning, I had no idea an autumn poem was birthing itself in morning’s slowly awakening light. I had no idea that a photo I’d taken of the bunch of Asters I’d placed by our front door would awaken thoughts of changing seasons and all the possibility that sweeps in with every falling leaf.

Fall is my favourite season.

It seems fitting a poem would write itself out of that place where I let go of expectation of what to write and allow trusting in the process to give birth to that which is yearning to be expressed.

4 thoughts on “The Promise of Flowers Yet to Bloom (a poem)

  1. I sit in the warmth of the ship’s lounge, just north of the Arctic Circle, at the Bodo, Norway quay. I marvel at the green hues all around – fields, trees, lawns – as they provide pops of colour on the grey shades of rocky landscape against the dark, angry waves of the sea whipped up by winds. I am perplexed for this is the “Arctic” and yet there is no visible sign of autumn. Further south there was the odd vestige of red on a solitary maple that somehow found a home among birches, poplars and conifers aplenty. Yet here, in the Arctic, autumn stubbornly has not yet shown its arrival, as the calendar date dictates it should. I look forward to the quiet solitude offered by the whiteness of snow for it blankets in warm the soil that will once again blossom out in vibrant colours come next spring.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ooooh! Iwona your words stirred my heart and I feel the echo of them wandering through my mind as I type. Love the images you evoke — and fascinating that autumn has not yet fallen in the Arctic! We are deep in the midst of its beauty. Hugs — enjoy!


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