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Flushed

In my garden gambol
green beetles
by twos and threes,

who sing to High Tulips
blushing pink
in harmonies.

Flushed,
adoration-framed,
they rainbow through
emotions gained
from beetle songs
choir sung.

I part the foliage clef
to observe what enchantment deft
musical beetles pant
to flowered plants
swaying in the green.

I am transfixed
in this gloaming,

where songs stroke
the airy night;

uplifting
tulip bulbs-
rhapsodied
and honey dewed.

On me then
euphonies:

Beatles sing
because we don't,
to balm absence's pain.

They sing our song
of high praise;
because we won't,


for tulips,
gardens, soil and loam.

We are the children
who've lost
the songs

[...] Read more

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