Of all the flowers, the bluet has
the sweetest name, two syllables
that form on the lips, then fall
with a tiny, raindrop splash
into a suddenly bluer morning.
I offer you mornings like that,
fragrant with tiny blue blossoms--
each with four petals, each with a star
at its heart. I would give you whole fields
of wild perfume if only
you could be mine, if you were not--
like the foolish bluet (also called
Innocence)--always holding your face
to the fickle, careless, fly-by kiss
of the Clouded Sulphur Butterfly.
what a dilemma--the whimsy of a butterfly or the lure of fragrant flowers. i admit--i could be distracted momentarily by the butterfly. but mornings full of scents i love bring peace. i think i'd choose the bluet morning...