Find me out in the pastures

where the marigolds sing.

Lift yourself above the rows

and rows of sunny things.

Capture just a sample

of the smiling globes.

Long for a wishful

mixture of yellow, gold, and white.

Thinned out fingers gentle

rock the fields wide.

Turning pedals over

and over in the honeyed breeze.

Pin one up in golden hair

to play off perfect things.

Grab a handful, pick

and pick, until a bouquet one makes.

Merry golds, shining bright,

losing nothing, breakless light.

Fondness grows in this garden

that grows the marigolds.


2 thoughts on “Marigolds

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