To see these multitudinous children of the sun frolicking upon my shaggy yard, their yellow- plumed heads lifting, bobbing, surely summoning the scurry of nectar-craving bees, brings welcome cheer as they broadcast wholesome news of warmth, soil and water— countering the crusty worries ever looming at day’s gray horizons.
Undaunted by the haughty tulips and iris, boldly they lay their seasonal claim, scoffing at arbitrary borders and treading where their staid kindred wouldn't think to go— such as neighbor’s sterile lawn imagining only grass and expulsion to all who waft in. What’s mine is theirs to use, nursery and airstrip sailing their flighty children on their way.
Among these yellow charmers I choose to dally, no mind to nightfall’s pall or tomorrow’s clouds, visitant to a galaxy of glowing stars, celebrant in spring’s sacrament of profusion.
Darrell Petska is a retired university engineering editor and two-time Pushcart Prize nominee. His poetry appears in Verse-Virtual, 3rd Wednesday Magazine, Front Porch Review, Amethyst Review, and widely elsewhere (conservancies.wordpress.com). Father of five and grandfather of seven, he lives near Madison, Wisconsin, with his wife of more than 50 years.
Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License (CC-BY-NC-ND 4.0)
