Morgan Michaels

Chamomile - Poem by Morgan Michaels

I am the mighty chamomile.
Only to you lowly-
ach, it's hot!
rooted, immobile, here,
I've a knack
to spin from sunshine, soil and rain
nothing less fine than a flower,
super-seeding mine own
existential dilemma;
if that means naught to you
we shall see you yet, the winter come,
sitting foot propped up
sipping rich and steamy,
infusions of me.

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Topic(s) of this poem: love

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Poem Edited: Sunday, November 8, 2015

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