Image and Description for Poem #81
We should not mind so small a flower -
Except it quiet bring
Our little garden that we lost
Back to the Lawn again.
So spicy her Carnations nod-
So drunken, reel her Bees -
So silver steal a hundred flutes
From out a hundred trees -
That whoso sees this little flower
By faith may clear behold
The Bobolinks around the throne
And Dandelions gold.
Meditating, “quiet” on a rose that is losing blooms, because fall is now here. The bees now full of pollen have left, “So drunken, reel her Bees”, and the leaves fly off the branches, a peaceful pleasant sound of wind blowing through a flute, “So silver steal a hundred flutes”. Feeling the breeze brush against my cheek like a bird “bobolink” flying through the air landing on a “throne” where I now stand, on the lawn, knowing in faith this “flower” with roots in the earth, “gold”, will rise next spring.