Conversation with a Primrose

.
original poem
and photos
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by @d-pend

Conversation with a Primrose

Streams of thought imbibed until
they melt and swell in flowing rill:
dissolve to bends and pinion'd light
dispelling truth past wrong and right.

   A primrose is all blush and grin;
   O Loving Lady—let me in!
   Methinks you bloom for I alone
   and ours a bliss that starlights hone.

   I know you drink from that same spring
   from which our words grow wary, ring
   with cautious burning and groves raze,
   erect tall monuments, seethe haze
   but you speak naught yet to the soul
   give peace, repose—a brief parole
   from self-enacted prison terms
       "Why, for the wind, make yourself worms?"

       "You do not crawl but walk upright;
       your form's a bloom and not a blight.
       Your heart a bud which opes the more
       you languish on primordial shore.

       Compassion, feelful joy that brims
       on bound'ry where made flesh th' whims
       Imagination dreams 'fore dawn
       of lithesome mind, of breaking brawn
       all lapped on sands of foreign world
       so verdigris, to loam down-hurled.

You need but drink from roots and sky
to be as virtue-lush as I."

Falls of text I loose until
they melt and swell in ebbing rill:
dissolve to bends and pinion'd light
dispelling sound past wrong and right.