Revisionist Poetry – “The Gramophone Bloom” – Floral Gramophone, v.2

In the field, a flower blooms in perfect form,
Curved like the horn of an old gramophone.
Its petals open, note by note,
Unfolding a soft, impossible song.

It seems to send out colour you can hear,
A quiet music threading through the air.
It lifts the eye, then lingers in the mind,
As if sound itself had learned to flower there.

Within its fragrance, something rhythmic lives,
A pulse that echoes through the afternoon.
It leans toward light with effortless grace,
And turns the sunlit field into a tune.

This blossom is more than blossom alone:
A muse for hand, for eye, for thought.
It waits like art at the edge of language,
A form where wonder has been caught.

Can you ignore such easy, living charm?
Such beauty asking only to be seen?
It feels like one small gift from nature’s hand,
A calm that makes the ordinary gleam.