When wandering one warm day
I happened upon a daisy named Violet.
She was sitting quite peacefully
as purples happen to be muted
when wild.
Quietly she rose,
bending her bulging bodice
leaning her long neck
upward toward dawn in dewy
Pink cheeks, pastel and seeking sun
Glistening
naturally, she begged for admiration amid
these murky velvet green ponds
sequenced with shimmered beads
fishing for focus
in a breeze
She
leads and unfurls
her pinched peach sail
To take in the open air,
To swallow this wishful
Baby's breathe blue day
ahead of the flattened carpet
holding soles atop its rhizome net
keeping us occupied in valleys,
Blades trod on
by ambling and bumbling beings
led with hunger this way,
by a sense of smell
and finding the forgotten flavor of flora
reasonable, enduring, reminiscent of days
when he loves me
not
when she loves me
enough to grow more
meadows made of these
meandering memories
one settles with bees
and spreads
happenstance in destiny's place.
Painting by William Page Atkinson Wells [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
