The Flower Dance

The Flower Dance

Flowers dance around my head

Fluttering, floating, flying, fluffing,

Cheek to cheek with writhing, wriggling strands

Of golden hair, weaving, wavering, wandering.

Silent whirr of flower wings, tingling things,

Singing roses with forget-me-not voices

At the top of their petals, fair psalms to the evening dew,

To the morning sun, the flower of flowers,

Majestic daisy, spreading its pollen to the cracks and crannies,

Illuminates the night, emancipates day,

Paints my eyes open, to love the flowers,

Serenades my dancing hair, which reaches and curls,

Gently capturing a soft yellow daffodil,

Passively surrendering to flowing, flouncing seduction.

Everything, everywhere, flowers and hair.

Eleven stars, jewels of the night,

Kiss the sun, melting, ice cold, in its burn.

Pink flowers chariot the wingless, flyless, falling stars,

Hard like diamonds, soft like candles,

Bright like silver, shining through the long black veil of time,

And bear them where they will, to join the fun,

The song, the touch, the feel, the bliss, the peace, the dance!

Ah the dance! The flower’s dance, the endless march,

Without a step, but many a flutter and twitter,

A breeze comes now, oh happy imp,

To dance and tenderly brush the face of bliss,

Rub the stamen with fingerless hands, with handless fingers,

To caress the stars and spitter the rain,

Lightly falling, golden drops, bouncing, pattering,

Cloud children, weather urchins,

Frolicking on the long arms of the wind,

Blades of grass, bending, willowing,

Leaning, prancing, shuffling, dancing,

With the flowers, faster, frenzied,

Flashing, flaking, felting, awaking –

And they swoon at the touch of her hand.

– John E Leahy

Circa 1970