Kingdom of the Little Iris
A quiet, serene girl,
Sipping tea,
Her posture held by the rigid force . . .
Of a sentry.
Well, mellowed a bit.
I would not call,
You as one would see a stone person.
You are soft, m’dear,
Like the iris in the picture,
A still blooming,
Yet gentle,
Silken thing.
You are a spectrum,
Of dipping violet,
As dewdrops glisten-
On your still pale,
Flesh,
In the weak dawn.
An iris to pet,
Would be an honor,
For an iris,
Has so many dimensions.
In the meadow,
Rests the iris,
A maiden of fair,
A beauty of,
Sorcerer purple,
Softened into a welcoming,
Bright, and motherly,
Violet, which becomes this maiden.
Her jewelry of dew,
Make a kaleidoscope,
’neath the above canopy . . .
and I would have one,
to pet.
The iris so proudly rests,
Its long, curving,
Spiral stem,
With silver glinting,
In a pose of sheer grace,
Marked by delicate, tinkling leaves-
The whole thing might be,
Made of silver, real,
If I didn’t know better.
Ahhhhhh. The perfect pet plant . . .
Wait- I forget myself.
This brings me back,
To where I began,
This piece-
You do make the best image,
Sitting there with your cup.
Quietly sipping with those graceful,
Hands,
Like petals-
You are the iris I see.
The perfect, most rare,
Multidimensional pet to those that love you.
My sister, she tells me,
That you see things in 3D,
Imagined from mere,
Scattered letters, placed on the page.
That your silence,
Masters,
An intensely multiplied personality,
That runs in delighted spurts and spasms,
When unchecked,
By your cool façade.
This personality mimics the spectral,
Dew on your fair,
Quiet face,
Of pale petals.
If I breathe the scent of the flower’s perfume,
Then I will be yet recalled,
To a- prodigy.
One so young,
Could easily wear the bugs out
That seek their fodder,
Perhaps . . .
Well, if your mind can create such an unlikely scene.
Yet, the softness,
Jewels of a caring maiden,
That welcomes with,
Unparalleled exquisite,
Dignity.
Will soon grow into a deep gem.
This Iris will grow,
Into a magnified,
Queen clothed in a dark velvet-
Silk no longer.
Arrayed in jewels,
Deep, deep will be the roots,
Of the iris,
At dawn.
And where, where had,
The girl gone,
Who sipped the tea?
She became- transformed,
In a kingdom of wild irises,
With cheers,
And shouts of admirations,
Or, well, perhaps regal silence from the flowers . . .
Perhaps you will someday,
Follow your dreams, little flower.
Locked away though,
Somewhere,
Is a kingdom-
That will finally cascade about you.
Then you will put your tea down,
And softly,
Pad towards its,
Magical doors.
Adieu, little iris pet,
’till I see you some dew-lit,
damp morn.,
breathing the pollination
of the subjects,
the freshness,
of a world that is yours,
the kingdom of little iris,
only,
now you are so great.
Oh, what a magical land,
In the kingdom you hold,
of iris splendor!
Farewell dear queen.
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