My Lady, Margarite

“The Emperess” Joan Pope

First eye to morning sun.
She loves me; I eat those.
She loves me not; drop those to rot.

First-rate, bone flower,
her capitulum bends.
Skirt once closed, gladly opens,
and I treasure her adoration,
her heliotropism.

She’s been well-sown.
Low maintenance,
she germinates on her own.
Everlasting, witty,
a touch pretty,

my common lawn sweet,
ready for bedding,
my lady, Margarite.

© 2022 | K.Hartless


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