Johnny jump up  take note of botany’s
beauty   the florid floral music of
viola tricolor   Jump up and kiss
me   How soft  the red lips the petalled cheek
The subject of poetry’s poetry
just as dance is dance  
                                the rhythm as words
cross the page   the dancer   creeping   ramping
leaping   pirouetting   pursed lips pouting
Where are the snowflowers of yesteryear
that failed to outflank parasitic death?
In the house that Jack built we believe in
poetry’s afterlife  Who will read us
when we are long gone?
                            Dear reader you did

John Lyons

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