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The Idea of Flowers

August 12, 2021

Each bee that’s crystalline  

with spring’s golden frost

(each filament gleaming

with the idea of flowers)

 

carries with it the possibility of true

abundance—the hope of things not yet

seen by the manifold eyes of the wild world.

 

Each speck of faerie dust

clings bravely to the prospect

of falling into place, falling

amidst the dew of quiet dawn—

 

clings and awaits the right moment,

anxious to let go, but frozen on the wing

that beats undaunted in the morning air.

 

Each flower, with face wide,

lifts its gaze, with open eyes

so the fantasy can find its mark

and the earth can grow new flowers—

 

leaping up like cool flames blown to life

by the wind that wakens this wild world

and tells of a wilder world to come.

3 Comments

  1. Emily

    This is a pretty poem! I like the line of the dust on the wings that beat the morning air.

    Reply
  2. Kathleen Stewart

    Scintillating!

    Reply
  3. Bethany

    You’re one of the few poets whose free verse I actually enjoy. Keep up the great work Mr. Jackson!

    Reply

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