Fairy Tale
Children, we have sunned ourselves
today. Reclining in the dirt,
a peasant in elysian fields,
I listened as your feuding rose
and fell: another cause that comes
to nothing, praise the lord.
Winding home, I picked and wore
a poppy, though it is not November
yet. Now look to the jaundiced poppy
in the sky, who makes his lowdown bed
in golden waves of frozen fire
thawing.
The world is just those golden waves.
Look at me: the three of us
will soon enough dissolve.
Moving and bright with imagery.
Oh my, as I read piece after piece here, I must tell you—your poetry is just a wonderful thing to me, I wish I had better words to tell you than these…. So lovely, and music to my soul. 🎶🖤