… on the left:
My lace pattern is dainty; a fine filigree,
as delicate as any lace could ever hope it could be,
and far too pretty to fold or to make a crease,
or for a single tear to ever drop down on me.
… on the right:
I dedicate my lace portrait to my poet’s polar garden,
whose peonies’ soft petals adorn every corner,
and as a way to remember that stellar garden forever,
its dancing Forget-Me-Nots are woven into my lovely border.