Now
you know—a taste of freedom, to cherish your lot.
Soar
a life, tilling gardens, somewhere a soul. We feel
it
mixed, a touch of angst, only for newness. Capture
gauras,
to plant for magic, a stem for mystics. I give you
heart,
a fist full of love, colored by heleniums. It’s true
to
flame, to flicker volts, such as a young spider. Oh
for
riddles, a swan swirls—a hollyhock. Such is beauty,
a
breath of honesty, a father’s gem. Is that a hosta, a
violet
bloom, speaking in magic. Indeed to drift, to
paint
a wallflower, to yield a wand, plucking
watsonias.
I’ve said little, a point taken, looking at
lily
eyes; for gentle a soul, to ponder butterflies, to
stream
for nature; plus a lotus, to sit in grace, to shelter
hearts.
I give you soul, the wildest rose, to summons
for
mystic; for yogis dance, ever to channel, aspark a
universe.
So wind a flower, to snap a wishbone,
nibbling
wafers; for life is soul, an inner chamber, an
Iceland
poppy.
