A Wind Comes Through
       

—and buttercups respond. A beautiful set-up,
      for as long as it lasts.

By habit, the mind imagines what it would prefer.

Good work, then, to step aside once the metaphor is made;
      whatever you believe,

the littlest purple flowers are at home in the ditch.

And three swans move across the lake,
      nothing to it.

The truly patient don't bother themselves.

Maiden's tears, bachelor's buttons:
      a charm to want the life you have.

My father, speechless, must have thoughts along these lines,
      some new knowledge,

hard-won, this world or the next.

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Copyright © 2017 Mary Ann Samyn All rights reserved
from Zone 3
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission