I met a woman on the road
carrying flowers I could not name.
What type of flowers are those? I asked,
I’ve never seen any quite the same.
She gave them names I’d heard before,
Kindness and Hope were two, she said.
I guessed that they were flowers of the night.
I guessed that they were from elsewhere.
I’ll say this once so listen well,
the third was the bloom I chose instead,
for that was the Spirit of the woman herself.
Just where she was headed, she never said.
[Note: I am indebted to Rose Red for her poem “Forget me (not)”]