The Flower Court

This was intended, originally, as one sprawling poem, however, during the writing of it I took a stroll in
the garden on a windy day, and saw the most spectacular thing, a flock of bees thrown about; and
decided then thanks to the wind: that I would allow this court to unfold through a series of poems. They
are all connected still and if you wish, you may take them as you want and fill each to a palette, and
become the artist, mix them how you like, and paint what you want or don't, the choice is yours.

(excerpt)

the little queen sat on a stump,

atop her lichen hair, was a flower pot,
to most she would look peculiar,
with elfin eyes, crisp as ancient autumn,
and neither young or old, just fairylike

except the automaton had no reference,

having only encountered strange things,
such as a squire in a field
whistling with a flower, or the owl that
glimmering grey perched upon a clock
that was also a door, yet, being naive
to the larger thoughts and loftier things,
he looked with eyes curious and confused,
to which the little queen, being wise said at once,
"this flower pot is a crown, you see,
it is where i tend my thoughts,
they have to have somewhere to grow, you know!"

Seeing that it was more confused than before,

She thought a bit and knew, he may not speak
With words, not all things do, in a forest,
She pulled out a flute, that was the royal scepter,
and birdsong flew from it, and the automaton
having learned to whistle from the squire,
whistled back a creaky tune:
which together infused, in the air to bloom
a theatre in the air, one that gave them actors
and a plot, a play of words that spoke, thus: