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,
superseding my own
existential dilemma;
if that means aught to you
we shall see you yet, the winter come,
sitting foot propped up
sipping a rich and steamy,
salty-sweet,
infusion of me.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Poem Edited: Friday, January 31, 2014


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