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The Back Fields Of Troy, Maine MAG
I like to put apple blossoms, cherry blossoms
and most of all daisies, in my hair.
Their dancing patterns of colored teardrops
rest on my head.
And I can smell the pollen
like skin bathed in the river
and hear the soft whistle of the stem.
The daisies simple yellow center
shoots out petals.
Then the curls of my hair
grab and cradle this wild creature
to my head. White slivers of meadow
morning touch my ear, tickling
sending me down a field
overgrown with hay, purple vetch, and wild madder,
a soft warm breeze leaping out of the grass.
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