Light as a feather, insight tickles awake
joy of something seen in something else –
Blood seen in the red of a rose is all
it takes to quicken a daydreamer into a poet.
Everyplace wanderer, everything ponderer,
the poet proposes that violets are blue
Because they envy rose’s high station; should
sparks of rose-envy ignite Wars of the **Violets,
Nobody gains more than poets, now presented
with fresh fallen fodder, to laud their heroics.
Dave Read