I May

I May

The showoffs all delight me, while you plains

can croon till June, yet never win the day.

Proud, puffed-up songster, ferry me away;

bewitch me with the iridescent stains

that grace your plumage; tell me of the pains

and longings of your spirit, and I may

(yes, if you play your cards right) come and play.

A jig as jaunty as a jillion rains

of crystal pellets pelleting the leaves

is what I wish to watch, to catch the sun’s

bold paintbrush polychrome your tufted sheaves,

and we’ll canoodle if I like your breath.

If not? Then sing and sing, as springtime runs

to summer, summer fall, and fall to death.

__________

(Originally appeared in The Rotary Dial)