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
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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