Project White Orchid

For months, or longer,
sat on a shelf, forgotten.
Withering, dry. Dead?

The quest for moisture
had me walking on my roots;
reaching, stretching out.

But death stopped just shy.
Humid air provided me
that thin thread of life.

Then my aspect changed.
Dry dead limbs and leaves detached.
New soil, food, water.

Aggressively pruned.
Two chances, had I: Live? Die?
My life in your hands.

Now I breathe and drink,
reach up and down with new growth.
To flower once more.



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