John Writes a Poem

Nature rarer uses yellow

Than another hue;

Saves she all of that for sunsets,—

Spending scarlet like a woman,

Yellow she affords

Only scantly and selectly,

Like a lover's words.

~Emily Dickinson

(Gotta wonder if Emily ever saw a dandelion.) Well, that's all good and nice, Emily, but my beloved went into action when he heard me muttering about poets not working much with "forsythia." I could give them some grace, I suppose, for the challenge of such a word.

Forsythia

When it's springtime in Maine

And the weather is in a dither

Hang onto your hat

And go check the forsythia

If the leaves are green

And the flowers are blooming

Get out your lawnmower 

And give it a good tuning.

~John

I love it!

[Edited for the purpose of having the better picture at the top. Let's see if this works.]

~checking the forsythia~

~a little~

~a little more~

~enough~

Yes, more than enough! 

Come on now, tell me, has your beloved ever written a poem for you?