Pollen

Like a bottle in the wide surf
breezing on by winged fingers
the pollen of a million flowers
takes its chances against all odds
and rides the wind

I follow the wind, towards my dreams
admiring the capsules as they sing
only with my feet I direct where to go
like a honeybee towards its tree

In far off lands there strolls a princess
whose favorite flowers meet fair strangers
on padded hilltops might I find her dancing
breathing in the same continental airs

The flowers in her hair
mark my dreams
her essence, distilled
in youthful fragrance
signals life
and tastes as sweet
as honey