Reflections on Flora and Birds
What is Feay’s Palafox? A name lost to air,
Nor tongue nor pen can trace it fair.
Alas! What boots the long, laborious quest,
Hearts in sandhills and scrub find their rest?
Yes! Thou art fair, yet be not moved
By fleeting glories or praises approved.
Is it among fall blooms, untutored fails,
Where silence lingers, the sparrows, quails?
‘Tis said that some have died for Aster,
A character shaped by tubed alabaster.
A complaint arises, soft and low,
From a wren’s nest where no wildflowers grow.
Among all lovely things, my flora once stayed,
But time, relentless, memories decayed.
A slumber sealed my bee and wasps flight,
A whirl-blast seeded beyond the night.
Ah! Life unfolds in a steady stream,
A morning exercise, a fleeting dream.
Let love endure in its sacred hours.
As feathers and flying things sanctify flowers.
WoPoLi 
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