The Peace of Wild Things
A garden of marigolds….orange, yellow and rust,
Bright, soft and rich, touched with golden dust.
Quiet and regal, sun kissed and fair,
Basil -citrus fragrance that mellows the moist air.
A thousand smiling marigolds, a thousand smiling suns,
Sweet nectar, ambrosia, for natures gentle ones.
Woven into garlands, yellow with tips of red,
Woven into memories with many a words unsaid.
Love’s hopes of an Indian bride, clad with marigold,
With dreams wrought ‘n promises, her heart dearly holds.
Tearful farewells to soldiers, who traverse through destiny’s doors.
A garland weaved with love for those, from across the seven shores.
And when the body is but a thought, as life grays and olds
Wrapped in a hearse of love, their love, with weeping marigolds.
An offering so humble, yet flowers a Goddess wears,
Auguring celebrations, with a soul’s heartfelt prayers.
Orange, yellow, rust..to love, to pray, to mourn,
Golden, sun kissed, blessed.. marigolds that life adorns.
Nishu Mathur, India
I found this hardy looking weed growing all by it’s lonesome. There was not an inch of the six foot fellow that did not have a thorn warning off all intruders. I felt it was a plant that very much reminded me of my old home in Southwest Texas. It could hold it’s own with the Cholla and Prickly Pear.
Despite the thorny first impression, I was moved by the blooms gentle Sunflower type movement that slowly followed the East to the West arch of the sun.
It’s monochrome pale green lended itself to a black and white conversion worked via NIK Photo Efex Silver 2 software in post production.
Watch out for the thorns today! †††en theos. jim
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