Travel
Hums the searching bee above the shrub
The noisy furry beast selects with care
One perfect bloom to let her shoulders rub
Soon off she wings to home where she shall share
The fruit she bears.
Ha ha! Yon bee! You're not so fleet as she
The youthful sylph on Independence Day,
Where Newton Races give fine silk places
To those racers. One, two, three in play.
She brings home the blue, a trophy gay.
Blatty! Blat! Blaw! runs the taupe
VESPA. Va Va Va Voom!
"Who's that girl?" Her cat within a tote
Upon the rear seat rack with just that room
To wave a sexy tail?" Not Joan I hope!"
Moans her hapless mom. Ah yes! it's she.
Why not? She flew throughout the distant West,
And took a barely proper gamble. Boise,
Denver, Des Moines, Dallas. Was Seattle best?
A ramble up Mt Hood sure tops the rest.
No stranger to far distant places, she
No longer goes a-roaming Orange Street
To Beach Street
is far enough to see.
No Need to take the Poulpis Road. We'll meet
At home and stroll the Garden By The Sea.
Wander through the daylilies white,
Gold, and red. Anemones gathered
Beside the jonquils, a charming sight.
Watch the waving grasses. Heed those heathers
Blue and gray, and weed with righteous might
.
Within that little patch of earth, between
The cottage and the shed, rests all the world
Of blues and golds, and shades of gathered green.
Of Stalks and fans and bursts of light that swirl
In sympathy to dusk and dawn, and night.
To Joan on her birthday 2002
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