Poppies: Collaboration With Mystic Rose
Hillsides shimmer in summer's golden fire
as marmalade sun dawns on poppied slopes.
I run with Monarch butterflies higher
barefoot in honey with tangerine hopes.
I hear the butter chirp of a warbler's song
and smile at God's creative citrine zest.
While I inhale the gold-coined sun, I long
for the Monarch's dappled orange vest--
If only I could shed my morose shades
and pluck the redly poppies off his grave;
I could be one with this saffron parade,
embrace euphoria, live the colors I crave.
Hillsides of valor: once I held his quest.
Now I turn to ruby poppies and I scorn,
but at myself or all in us that's best.
I cannot change the past nor can I mourn
a past I cannot change. But on this hill
I feel the poppies in their sherbert folds;
they lilt like orange butterflies and fill
life with sunrise, the beauty Monarchs hold.
7/5/17
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