thoughts turn to steam as the spring frost on grass under a noonday sun but do a deliberate search for the dense blue forget-me-not reminds of the royal presence see the ten-thousand suns staring up from the grass- hazard the pollen gatherer's angry buzz, and pick one the scent powders your nose with sun paint piercing as a lion's tooth the bouquet of our beginnings cracks us up with a child's laughter, prancing & roaring our senses clear, for the kid remains in you 5.0
Dent De Lion
15
Apr