Whispers Beneath the Leaves For a Clivia
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In stillness kept and shadows mild,
Where sun through window gently played,
A pot-bound heirloom, long exiled
From change or root-disturbing spade.

Its blooms had sung in orange flame,
Each winter echoing the past—
Till one midsummer blossom came,
Pale and hidden, fading fast.

White as silence, tinged with light,
Two freckles marked with amber hue;
No trumpet’s blaze, no morning rite—
Just fleeting notes in paler view.

No fuss, no feed, no guiding hand,
Just soil settled by the years,
A quiet bloom, an altered strand
Unfolding soft beneath the spears.

Let memory frame what petals swayed
Once deep within a leafy crown.
A whispered shift the plant displayed—
Then let its legacy settle down.

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I didn't discover the unique, hidden flowers until after all had bloomed out,
except for the very last one in the cluster.

The flowers should be bright orange, as in years past.