— Dennis Richardson
This little pink flower
Is gathered in tiny green leaves,
A small butterfly-like insect
Darts from flower to flower
While the cars on the street honk
And swerve around the dog,
A black and white Springer spaniel
Who wants to chase the orange cat.
Did you see the cat? One poet
Called it marmalade, another, carrot.
Yes, we are here too with our words,
Our poems, the gibbous face of the man
In the moon starring down at us
Not knowing what to say until the poet
Says it for him: “Live, love.”
Our words wonders in themselves.
Last night, the world, Shakespeare’s stage,
Reached for life and love,
Its players playing our parts for us
Like our poems, words that enter and exit
Stage right or left, wherever the heart is,
The message: live and love
Before the old man in the moon loses his way,
Before man’s seventh age sans everything.