In fields of sun rays,
Under crisp gusts,
My eyes rest on that lone blossom.
That blossom sits under a canopy of weeds,
Nestled in crude and dry loam, unbefitting of its majesty.
But still sweetly it waves in the wind,
Never letting on that it is truly alone.
On one knee, I beg its indulgence,
Whisper a fluid drone,
Enticed by its regal and individual beauty.
My fingertips clenched its frail stem.
And tugging until its frail roots gave in,
I let my temptation be set in stone.
Yay, nature.
Comments
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Oh I like this. A focus on singular beauty found even among the weeds. "Unbefitting of its majesty" has a nice feel. The poem has a smooth flow, and ends with a prompt for more thinking. Very nice.
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