Of Phoenix Tails and Marigold Trees



“Fie! The folly!” to me they all said,
“Why not stay in where it’s comfy instead?
The weather forecast said there might be a breeze,
And we know that marigolds don’t grow on trees. 

Phoenix! Less likely, there is no question,
Than orotund pigeon that’s prone to combustion,
Or pheasant all trussed with a painted plume!
You’re certain to meet with a feathery doom! 

You might get the Creckles, or Frockles, or Measles!
You’re bound to meet Grobulent Fish-Headed Weasels!
There might be some prickles, and what if it snows?
And what if a wildebeest lands on your toes?” 

“And what if I never discover!” I cried,
“I’d much sooner fail than to never have tried,
And what of the journey, the freedom, the chase?
What would I find if I stayed in one place? 

I’ll rush through a runnel with splattering feet,
I’ll choose a sweet curve of a root for a seat,
I’ll go where the secretive still things are,
And hang all my thoughts on the furthest star. 

Where there are pear trees there might be pears,
I’ll climb for the top ones where nobody dares.
I’ll leave all the hazels to grow very fat,
And if it’s rainy I’ll wear a hat, 

Or not, maybe, as the mood takes me.
I’ll get up whenever my soul wakes me,
I’ll laugh when I’m jolly and weep when I’m weepy,
I’ll eat when I’m hungry and sleep when I’m sleepy. 

Here are some cushions and there’s the remote.
I’m taking a phone and a waterproof coat.
Here come the friends who won’t mind if there’s weather.
I’ll bring you a blossom, and maybe a feather.”

Sumangali Morhall
February 2005