You are a dancing dandelion lioness, lounging lovely in the liquid sun rays, licking power off your paws. An audience stands awestruck as you parade through town picking primroses to make them all their own crowns. Tell me tenderly, as we sip blackberry wine, about tearing up the space-time continuum and jumping, cannonball, into oblivion. You, miss maestro, make marvelous mountaintop melodies, collaborating with the yodelers and the midnight goat herders as the common man in the valley bites mouthfuls out of your music to warm his belly and bring him to bed. You are a fantastic flying fingerling potato, finding your way deep in the ground, growing outwards and beautiful, towards the surface and the center. Your eyebrows could level lava spewing volcanoes! Your laughter leads lambs back to their loving homes from the fertile fields they roam! You, vivacious Venus, waltz in from the kitchen calling out harmonies to the song birds and slingshotting kisses to all of your faithful misters and misses. Your bag may hang heavy, but you have so many hands to help carry it. You, my dear, are the sun beaming magnificent.
A poem for my soul sister, the sun goddess. A poem for you, too, when you need it