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.