Outlined in aster ,
and traced with trees
The American painted lady
weeps by the creek.
Lepidoptera just sits there
smelling the sweet aroma of
lavender and cosmos.
While off in the distance
The dandelion stands alone.
Never touched, outcast from
beauty a weed among the trophies.
No need for sorcery in this
white mirth of careless laughter,
For the song of the gray crested
tufted titmouse utters a love song;
Listening to the water splash
a thousand leagues away.
Crickets dance to the twinkle
of the smiling stars immemorial
to the silver-veiled moon,
a dusting of the obscenely clouds
harboring the Milky-Ways shroud
of perfection, from dawn till now.
