I Have Stumbled Into A Meadow
By John Isbell
I have stumbled into a meadow.
There is a profusion of flowers on every side:
Lilacs, crocuses, tulips, daffodils, irises.
Sublime chaos. The painter threw his palette in the air.
Heady bees drift from calyx to calyx,
Caressing the air with their hum.
This galaxy of flowers
Rests in the green void of the uncut grass,
Which tickles my legs as I walk,
And fills my heart with a sense of rightness.
The sky arches over the whole scene, from horizon to horizon.
It is infinitely blue and cloud-studded:
The clouds have gradations in their white like folded handkerchiefs.
As I begin to spin in the meadow,
I see the tree and cow that want to be in this poem.
The clouds like white canvas reflect the flowers’ color,
As a small chin reflects a buttercup.
Every planet pauses in the ecliptic.
In the rings of Saturn, the particles listen.
One bee lands on one flower and is happy.
Open Source Politics. How many other political sites give you almost-daily doses of poetry like this?