She is a friend I have known since childhood.
We played together
where the light fell through the branches
and splashed upon the forest floor.
She goes by many names, this shy blossom:
Dogtooth Violet, Trout Lily, or Adders Tongue.
Her long, oft forgotten name, is Erythronium americanum,
and, when you whisper it in the woodland, magic happens.
Say it softly and the wind will catch the sound and carry it away.
When you walk through the woodland,
look down, and step carefully.
Her leaves are many, but her petals are few.
If you slow down enough,
if you forget the wild scurry of the people in the world,
you may hear her sing and it will sound
like sunlight kissing the stillness of the afternoon.
If you bend low enough,
if you look closely,
you may see her wave goodbye.
She is ephemeral, this woodland lily,
she is here-and-gone,
but you will see her again,
this childhood friend,
when spring rolls around once more.