<p class="ql-block">Whispers of Allium</p><p class="ql-block">By Ru Wang</p><p class="ql-block">In morning hush where meadows breathe,</p><p class="ql-block">A violet globe begins to weave</p><p class="ql-block">Its silken light through summer air,</p><p class="ql-block">A quiet joy, divinely rare.</p><p class="ql-block">Each slender stalk stands tall and true,</p><p class="ql-block">Crowned with stars in purple hue.</p><p class="ql-block">No trumpet calls, no proud display—</p><p class="ql-block">Just gentle bloom and calm ballet.</p><p class="ql-block">The bees arrive with humble song,</p><p class="ql-block">And linger where they both belong.</p><p class="ql-block">The petals dance, a breeze replies,</p><p class="ql-block">As if the earth herself now says right.</p><p class="ql-block">From root to bloom, it gently mends—</p><p class="ql-block">A healer’s grace, the field’s best friend.</p><p class="ql-block">No boast, no claim, just living free—</p><p class="ql-block">A lesson wrapped in symmetry.</p><p class="ql-block">So may we walk where alliums grow,</p><p class="ql-block">And learn the peace that flowers know—</p><p class="ql-block">That joy need not be loud or grand,</p><p class="ql-block">But soft as light on open land.</p>