Poppies: Collaboration With Mystic Rose

Hillsides shimmer in summer's golden fire as marmalade sun dawns on poppied slopes. I run with Monarch butterflies higher barefoot in honey with tangerine hopes. I hear the butter chirp of a warbler's song and smile at God's creative citrine zest. While I inhale the gold-coined sun, I long for the Monarch's dappled orange vest-- If only I could shed my morose shades and pluck the redly poppies off his grave; I could be one with this saffron parade, embrace euphoria, live the colors I crave. Hillsides of valor: once I held his quest. Now I turn to ruby poppies and I scorn, but at myself or all in us that's best. I cannot change the past nor can I mourn a past I cannot change. But on this hill I feel the poppies in their sherbert folds; they lilt like orange butterflies and fill life with sunrise, the beauty Monarchs hold. 7/5/17