Even as the Milkweed faeries dance down the breeze in whistling sunlight,
The Thistle sisters sway their crowns like a trance waiting to happen,
A seed falls here or gets stuck on pant leg there,
A little brash maybe but no secrets to hide,
Dressed in Prairie gold they play with Zephyr princes,
Baiting foxes, stags, even wolves for a ride,
Far past their honey bee pink blush and no longer green with envy,
Fall is their amber season of reward and delight,
Even in Winter's frigid arms they show but little restraint,
They will lonely-peek over pure white blankets,
Always ready for their turn at the ball,
Pretty as gilded lilies in a simpler fashion,
Queens of the prairie waving and fluttering,
They'll always gift you a back -home feeling if you look long and slow,
Sort of child sisters of Mesmer.
By: Daniel A. Stafford
Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.