Rising from the loam, presuming nothing
She takes her place in the congregation
Her saffron face shines warmly
Encircled by an aureole of reticent alabaster
Simple, even plain in her apparel
She finds fancy is frivolous
An unnecessary vanity
Fellow supplicants attired in the finest garments
Fuchsia
Scarlet
Magenta
Crimson
(Red, really. Such pretense)
Bow down and rise up in self-aware piety
Are those prayers answered faster?
Better?
Her only adornments are hope and innocence
An instinctive modesty, not a conscious constraint
Her contrition is genuine
Asking nothing for herself
Exposing beauty of another kind
A virtue that shames the more rococo
It is a magnetism difficult to describe
Harder yet to name
A persistent and enduring winsomeness
bellis perennis
defying atrophy 