let’s walk a camomile, you and I,
avoiding violets, trying on
foxgloves, listening to bluebells.
and when we cowslip, let’s nettle
the random memories daisy;
then knapweed a little.
and grinding cornflower, we
might mullein the good graces
and accept a buttercup,
meadowsweetened for those who primrose.
our loosestrife might campion
the burnet times beyond
and we’d selfheal, thyme moving on
till we grow sage together.
One thought on “flowery language”