Marigold’s fever
Heavy heart griever
Saunters in the warm breeze
With an airy sundress tease
Soft and sturdy grassy patches
Where she matches
Rows of orange and yellow stashes
Named for the steady flower
With its strong stem tower
That humid air
Quite the flare for the flowers and her hair
She sits with her mind debates
Love and flowers she waits
Even on cloudy days
Without a phase
She sits there everyday
Pondering thoughts of flower devotion from mankind
Perhaps she has given up hope
There she is not known to be a good find
Her quiet place of solitude
Has left her not to be pursued
A day has come that’s too steamy
Left her not to be able to be dreamy
Quite the wind
Has taken her pink hat for a spin
She runs to retrieve as it flips
There she falls and trips
She hears a voice
That sounds like her choice
She looks up
Sees a man holding a pup
What has caught her eye that’s much too bright
She holds her hand up high in fright
There his hand meets hers
with marigolds held in golden light