Lait de Pivoines

Silky more than sweet.

Fresh like morning dew

With a taste of it too.

Shades of pink,

in cream enfolded, 

Hues of having lived, 

delicately unfolded.  

D’une douceur inouie.

Au parfum d’ambroise,

Quoi de plus exquise,

Que cette goûte du lait de pivoines

sur ma langue tressaillante ?

Ave Paeoniaceae, pleine de grâce !

In the early light of day

or beneath  the moonlight in May,

when their burgeoning blossoms,

full and soft as a mother’s breasts,

promise such an opulent bouquet.

“Oh, they’re my favorite, you know!”

She says as seasons come and go. 

What do their bountiful blossoms

awaken within her boundless soul? 

Does she see herself in bloom?

Does she feel within herself

something precious flowing,

something new, as yet unnamed:

lait de pivoines, in essence?

She sighs at the petals falling,

One by one, in unseen silence.

A prelude to autumn in a single day–

Womanhood in all its mystery

and its sudden change of phase.

The time has come to turn within

And tend, to the secret alchemy 

Of her own lait de pivoines.