I sometimes feel
Like a prairie
Flower in the
Hands of a
Forlorn lover plucking
My petals in
Pursuit of love
As though my
Own beauty is
Forgotten in lieu
Of theirs does
He not see
Me my prettiness
Instead I’m simply
A thing found
Faraway upon which
To bemoan and
After used far
Uglier than when
This first began
Do you remember
When or how
We did meet
Hey or hello
But Piggy oh
Piggy we became
Friends and the
Occasional lover but
More you became
A vase in
Which the bouquets
Of my poems
Sat blossoming and
Blooming for the
World to see
Readers help me
Wish Piggy a
Warm birthday on
This happiest happiest
Happy of days
Happy Birthday Piggy
And so I
Grafted myself to
You and you
Small broken flower
Less and somewhere
In between I
Knew that you
Would never grow
Without me music
And so and
Yes your life
Has blossomed like
Springs fields and
All about you
Buzz bumblebees and
Fireflies and freshly
Minted lovers snatching
You quickly for
Their bouquet but
Me I am
The willow at
The glens edge
Standing as I
Have for years
Whispering the song
Of wind and
Lullabies shading lazy
Summer afternoon dreamers
And tickling wayward
Boaters don’t think
That I don’t
See you there
But my blossom
You’re there to
Give hope while
I’m here to
Give age it’s
We that makes
Them forget about
Themselves and think
Only of us
I do enjoy
Beauty is there
Nothing more beautiful
Than a field
Of wild flowers
Fresh and plump
Fully sunned and
Damp with dew
Except perhaps for
That dried bouquet
Kept for years
Simply because with
It comes my
Memories of you
And it’s you
That is my
Most beautiful thing
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 