Mortal Angel
If such things were true, an angel’s life should be a fairytale, But you don’t find them more different than this one’s tale, Like those winged-one, you don’t see her fly away, And you begin to really believe she is
Daisybud
Swaying in consonance with an ebullient breeze, She shakes off its advances, with a careworn ease, Ruffling her petals, as she hung onto a slender stalk, Proclaiming gustily that it isn’t only humans who stalk. She stands up, and walks