I'll come for tea,
she said to the queen,
but no hydrangeas for me,
no mottled blue and purple
bursts of passion.
Instead, please, dandelions
in a jelly jar, some Earl Grey
from your chipped cup,
and toasty word crumpets
for a little snack.
Later, perhaps, we'll dance
under the old moon, our
garden alchemy beating
my spikey yellow petals
into seeded white puffs.
she said to the queen,
but no hydrangeas for me,
no mottled blue and purple
bursts of passion.
Instead, please, dandelions
in a jelly jar, some Earl Grey
from your chipped cup,
and toasty word crumpets
for a little snack.
Later, perhaps, we'll dance
under the old moon, our
garden alchemy beating
my spikey yellow petals
into seeded white puffs.
4 comments:
did you write that? it sounds so brit lit! love it.
just read it again. really love
Yes,it's mine. I'm honored to be "so brit lit"! It's a response to Kim's response to my last poem.
Dandylion in a jam jar?
Madam, I am aghast--
One pop of a flower?
I am used to kaleidoscopes
of subtle color--and yet
my blue hydrandeas tire me.
What is such a flower
without company? Dandy
for tea is a friend who
will pour. . .sad am I
at my desk with no
one but the crackle of seed
heads. And dandylions are
cultured in this respect:
they will travel, without luggage, albeit, but travel they do.
I accept.
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