Member-only story
Tell The Wild Roses
Today is not
A perfect day.
The grasshopper’s song is bent
Like the wire of a warped guitar
And the sun shines a bit too bright.
Did you see the rain this morning?
Did you rise from your bed
To let it kiss your eyes?
Its touch came too softly
In my opinion, more like the mist
You’d find caressing mossy rocks
On some unnamed shore where ships
Lose their way in sudden fog.
See, the clouds are shredding
In the warm breeze like cotton candy
At the fairground one summer
Where we stood in line for the ride
That spun us round till we were dizzy
And tottered off leaning on one another
Laughing so hard it hurt.
No, this is not a perfect day.
Tell the wild roses to pack it up
And go elsewhere;
Their beauty tears my fingers
And fills my eyes with water.
Still, I’ll sit here with them awhile
Watching the blurry world awash
In blue, green, wildrosepink
And that leftover cotton-candy buzz.
The day can’t help its imperfection,
It’s only…
