Wild Sage
The breeze annoying trees entices me,
I drift away afar to fields abloom,
with silver tongues untied their whispers free —
..ah, prairie-weed does burn a sweet perfume.
The flowered spikes do strike a reminisce,
the musky scent upon each purple spear…
your kiss, our bliss… you I miss… you I miss —
I fall upon each heady spear, despite the golden air.
The gilt-edged frills and thrills of summer days — that flutter!
The guilt-wedged sway and suede of lusty meadow sage…
The jilted sun, once young, still shines above the haze — that clutter…
an unfledged page from when we came of age.
I linger lone and lost—and loathe the lure of wind,
as fuzzy leaves flaunt drizzle beads beneath the clouds chagrined.
|