White lily

In the silvery reflection of a woman’s heart,
Shies a white lily, untamed, afraid
To bare her self,
If a man ever chose to dive in deep,
Empty handed he returned,
There were no treasures to keep,
For in the barren land,
Grew neither love nor grief,
Waning, wilting the white lily lived,
For more than just a lingering glance,
A brush of those lips, the predictable dance,
The sweet smell fades with each breath,
Wafting, waning to a subtler self.