The peonies are blooming, pink and white.

In the center of their fragrant sprays,

Groups of small beetles congregate.

Flowers are the valleys where they graze.

Mother stands above the peony bed,

And reaches down and draws one flower near.

She gazes for a long time into peony lands

Where a brief second seems to last a year—

Then lets it go. Nothing of what she thinks

Is she afraid to say to herself outright,

Or to the children. The sun in the leaves

Casts shadows on their faces, and speckled light.