FEVERFEW
A butterfly flits from yellow center to yellow center.
Slurping in the joy of nectar hidden from unassuming faces;
While the grackle hop skips pecking in the grass.
This grass need to be mowed.
When the mowing is done;
The butterflies will scallop along without stopping,
The feverfew flowers are no more.
Some call them wild dasies.
Enough rain, and they will for sure,
Popup again.
© gillena cox 2023
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