We Call Them Weeds – a poem by Tyler Rogness

This is whence yellow is named,
this the hue by which all gold measured:
fair maiden, standing tip-toe tall in the green —
earthed flicker of heaven’s flame.

And then, of a sudden burst soft and cloud-
pale in wisdom’s white: thus impaled
by the last happy beams of the red west,
lit pure like a candle in its flashing death.

Love-seeds scatter on the wind; find
their given hold; take at a prayer’s pace.
And as the prairie ever tells, all
shall bloom which love has sown.

It was in ignorance I called them weeds;
though were my life but half as bright as these,
just think how sweet would be the legacy.

Tyler Rogness is learning to live on purpose. He loves deep words, old books, good stories, and his wonderful family who put up with his nonsense. His poems have appeared in the Agape Review, The Habit Portfolio, and the Amethyst Review; and more of his work can be found at awakingdragons.com.