“Lily” (Riding in Boxcars, 2006) is the middle poem in my flower trilogy; “Rose” was the first. I will do “Iris” in a couple of weeks.

One question I still wrestle with is whether frogs can also turn into princesses? Perhaps, in this new world where women have a pretty good chance to succeed on their own, it is an option.

For everyone, lily pads can be a tough place to leave. Regardless of where we come from, we can make opportunities on our own, but our roots certainly can impact the possibilities.

We each have the option to stay among the lily pads or cut the cord. Either way, it is wise to be careful about which frog you kiss.

Glenn K. Currie

                             Lily

She lay open in the small pond.

Riding the ripples of false hope.

She was waiting for something,

To tear her from the murk,

To break the chord tying her.

Bedded, briefly, by a passing frog,

Eating flies at her table,

She had been left floating,

Suspended, in the backwater.

Abandoned by Prince Charming.