poetry & things

Ode to Lavandula

The morning sang to meadow-ed fields

mountains hummed the clouds far off,

skies went wildly blue

Strolling fragrantly in the cutting rows

lavender florets fell between dreaming toes

Scented mounds infused the path

provence, grosso, royal velvet, I chose

Woody stemmed grey, green, blue

bent breaking fragrance in the heated dew

Cabbage moths danced to singing bees


— I flew in lavandula breeze

Post navigation
Scroll to top