nod at the breeze
and whisper on their stems,
"Seeds, seeds, seeds."
The sunflower
aches and preens,
for the sun's caress,
turning its blind brown eyes
unblinking toward the light,
whispering, pleading, "See? See? See?"
So gentle a June
under a forgiving sun,
weeps green
weeps gold
weeps orange and pink
and does not yet grieve the Spring.
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