Soon




Bud of life,
let go of what
you might become—
pictures in your mind
of other flowers
blooming.
Feel your own sap,
the green electric
tingle of cells climbing
your stem,
building around you
yellow and gold
translucence.
Let yourself be pushed
by your own Self—
up, out and free
into Spring’s cold blue air—
warmed by the
brilliant light everywhere.
Then let them in,
those clear-winged
buzzing beings,
to wander in your golden
soul-dust—
offer it freely to
their gathering arms—
let them mix
your essence with
the sweetness of a
thousand flowers,
become as you
were meant to be—
honey of love,
Sweet taste of
Joy.