White flooding hope licks crimson revelers held staunch by cool, uneven shadow, kindling goldenrod crystal passion…
Amber leaves bristle, ” Come hither” to a shy purple flower. She covers her mouth, coyly, with gossamer orchid fingers.
Ah, my old friend, Bee. I cannot resist them…Says something about me, I suppose, that Grandma was deathly allergic and and I am fascinated by these creatures of endless duty.
Prickly, green sea-foam pops red and violet mermaid whimsy. Emerging in schools to breathe sunbeams – on undetectable pitches (in twelve part harmony) – they sing.
Simple and sturdy, golden thread touches and the wonders of organic structure. Nature’s fingernail brushes on Creation.
Sweet Daisy. Open, free and easy…Left on my own, it is what I strive to be.
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