A Rose for Daisy

Shortly after dark, as usual, I arose

Jumped out of bed and threw on some clothes

Went into the kitchen to start the coffee maker

Looked out the window at my half-acre

The mirror on the wall reflected the mellow tableau

As I walked into my back yard with a steaming cup of joe

Parked my carcass in my old easy chair

Enjoying the breeze in the cool night air

I sat at my ease in the starry night

Yet something didn't sit quite right

The night was with perplexity fraught
I meant to sit and give it some thought
And here is an inkling of what I was thinking

And what I was thinking not

Sitting, thinking, coffee drinking

Questions asked, answers sought

I picked up my phone and placed a call

To the flower-stall at the mall

They sent me a rose for Daisy straightaway

By messenger, clad in livery silver and gray

And Daisy came out of the house, as I’d hoped she would

And taking one look at me, she froze where she stood

Reflecting me, mirroring my pose

As, arm outstretched, she offered me a rose

The jewelled sky with colored gems bedecked
Reflects the selfsame sapphire sky with diamonds flecked
And Daisy and I with our mirrored flowers
Stir up long-sleeping dormant powers
As our glances with the stars connect
And all our souls our lives and journeys recollect
And Daisy thrills to a little ancient pizzazz
While I go for the razzle-dazzle and all that razzamatazz

Of What are Stars Wrought?

What are stars made of? ‘Tis a question I often hear

One time I took an astronomy class

To learn a star is a burning ball of gas

Hah! Next time they’ll me stars are made of crabgrass

Stars are made of blue moons

Held aloft with lead balloons

And treasure chests full of coconut macaroons

Which Daisy insists are enchanted gold doubloons

And stars are made of pomes

“Let me see that,” said Daisy dear

“Stars are made of pomes?

What; you mean like apples and pears?”

Which only goes to show what it shows

What truth may be found in error in one’s typos

And where I couldn’t swear to apple and pear

There might be stars of grapefruit, I suppose

Stars are made of dances and airs

Intricate melodies and tunes

In which are mixed one's fervent prayers

With the cries of cranes and loons

The stars are made of ethereal words

Hatched from the eggs of mellifluent birds

Which, to the song of harp and lyre

Go forth in tongues of silver fire