As the heat rises,
Heavy in our throats and hearts,
So we take our bow,
Our bold palette laid before you,
A tapestry of hope and possibilities.
Shall we blanket the meadows,
Our seed on every rise?
Shall we burn under the sun,
Under the inescapable light?
Let us lay out the final hand before you
Our passage from the possibility,
From the half-formed dreams of spring,
To something fixed and final.
Let us pass boldly,
Our blossoms as loud as our hopes,
Let us pass from spring’s possibility to
Summer’s unknown future.
Every May (and sometimes, the first week of June), I do a series of poems based on Victorian flower meanings. Welcome to the Darling Buds.