Bar Maid Poem by Elliott Rosenberg

When providence proceeds with caution,
eluding starkness of day,
a daffodil shall arise singing hymns of praise.

A chorister in denial,
whose trumpets bellow cross welting fields,
dwadles in the distance,
echoing the meadow where Narcissus lays.

Song sparrows celebrate with fervor and gaiety,
tattering the name off Nemessis grave,
Heady aroma that scents besiege,
the gazing eye of a Muskateer.

Arise my foe and grab your rapier!
The harvest has come for us to scythe,
clusters of myrrh for sacrifice,
To the alter of ambrosia.

Thistly parched with dew about,
your crescent petals have all gone,
turned to wreath that morns no more,
nestled in my arms.

Whose to blame my rampant love if winter brings calamity,
take the time to make it better,
With laughter from our soul.