JUXTAPOSIES


In a lonely field of autumn on a swelter-humid day,
Two saffron-lovely posies softly grew.
In silence, gentle stillness of the wind their heads would sway
And trickled down their stems the morning dew.

In sylvan green and majesty a ring of poplars stood
To guard the frail young blossoms in ovate
Whose tender petals tinge with pride and faintly with verdure
As they would fain the poplars emulate.

The furry bees and butterflies most often came and went
To gather nectar from their nature's cup;
And even ants and other flies could taste the luscious scent
And wished that they, like bees, there habit' supped.

Came storm and rain and colder days to vex the spindly flowers
And frost on chilly morning's early dawn;
But always with magnificence of strength they passed the showers
And strove to see the morrows every one.

But on one strangely darkened day the trees would seem to shake
And sway with premonition's moving doubt:
Two hunters searching firewood swift chopped a poplar great
And crushed the posies thoughtless to the ground.