The spray of miniature blossoms
Grows there beneath the radar.
I love how they spread themselves
Right out upon the ground.
The mower cannot touch them
Until they have fully bloomed and flowered,
Lacing the lawn with beauty
Like a sheet of gossamer down.
I also love the taller stems
That grace the billowing haypatch,
Stalky buds that dance in time
With the warm south woodwind’s scale.
They bloom and blow at their own pace,
And finally the swather mows them,
Baling up for the cow’s slow cud,
A smile on the farmer’s face.
So gather your flowers while you may.
Spring is here for only a day.
Summer’s heat dries and brings to seed.
Nuzzle the honeyed, velvet flora.
Breath deep the fragrance, tip your fedora,
To the life you want—and need.
-jenn long
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