His flowers...

MOON
FLOWER

Slowly up the string
It crept,
Winding, twisting, vine.

June, July, mid-August
Slept,
Hiding its white, shine.

On my porch, in
The dark,
I smelled a scent divine.

Perfumed, blossom, bright,
White, spark,
Flowered-moon, all mine.

Through the night her gown
Of white,
Grew softer, purer, fine.

Then a light, she did
Not fight,
The morning sun, a sign…

Her life of white, dropped out
Of sight,
The gift for those, not blind.