I know that June is at the door
and that you must be leaving.
And I suppose it isn’t fair of me
to ask, considering the countless
marvels that your minutes here
revealed, considering the beauty
that you bestowed upon my world.
But the time has passed so quickly,
and each hour was so sweet,
that ask I must. My love for you
demands it. Oh, May, May, May!
Couldn’t you stay?
All month, the emerging flowers
have held me captive with their radiance
and color, their fragrances filling
my winter-famished soul, reviving
me. Meanwhile, in the woods,
May has bathed the earth in emeralds.
The trees stand knee-deep in green
waving green boughs. All that was drab,
all that was dead, is gone, the woods
transformed into a living palace fit for a visit
from Venus herself.
You died, hoping that, somehow,
you were opening a path
for a greater goodness to enter
the world, that the cause,
in whose name you fought,
would triumph and bring blessings
to all you were leaving behind.
And for this, we honor you,
and place stars in your crown,
even though your sacrifice
filled our hearts with sorrow.
We pledge ourselves to you
this day, and to all who gave
all they had to give, that we,
too, will serve the cause
of goodness, and of truth,
and of peace, sharing your
hope that one day we will see
a world that knows no war.
Between the stands of white and purple phlox
that dance along the roadsides, wild carrot blooms,
Queen Anne’s predecessor, lace for Lady May.
It’s the least the Earth could do, this touch of grace,
to thank her for all the love notes that she tucked
in fields and trees and gardens during her splendid stay.
Such jewels! Such abundant treasure! All to reassure us
that, after the cold bleak winter, life returns,
magnificent, and singing joy.
May the trees be filled with blossoms
and the birthing of little birds.
May the sky be filled with stars
and sun, and rainbows after rain.
May the lakes be alive with the croaking
of frogs and the silver darting of fishes.
May the fields host newborn bunnies
and the forests host newborn fawns.
May the grasses be dew-kissed
and the trees wear green,
and may all the world sing Yes
in wonderment and joy.
Wild roses tumble from tree limbs now
and cascade on their vines down the hills,
their white petals accenting the emerald
foliage that has taken over the world.
“Summer,” they breathe, although
its official start is still a month away.
We inhale the warmth of the green air,
watch the sunlight play on the roses’ petals,
and smile, feeling the slide of the seasons.
The flowers that have been dearly loved,
from generation to generation, across
continents and cultures–these return.
And today, one such treasured blossom
opened from its full round bud
into a petticoat of ruffles in shades
of palest pink and spilled a fragrance
reminiscent of roses and lilac combined,
heady and wonderful. And we recalled
the gardens of our grandmothers and
mothers, and thanked our lucky stars
for such a gift.
It’s a fun job to begin with, designing flowers for Earth.
You get to play with all the colors of the rainbow,
every little shade and tint. And shapes? Anything
you want, from the simplest to the most complex.
Any size. And you get to add fragrances and leaves, to boot.
Like I said, a fun job. So fun, in fact, that every now and then
those Cosmic Artisans get silly, and infuse their little blossoms
with giggles-come-to-life. Just for laughs. Because, oh,
how they love to see us smile!
If you want to come to my hillside
to peacefully live, to raise your children
and sing your songs, I welcome you
with gladness. I revel in the colors
and harmonies you bring, in your music,
in your dances, in the way you say
hello. Welcome, I say to you.
Let me share my sunshine and my rain.
But should you come to strangle
or displace what I have grown here,
to supplant it with a culture
that forbids my own to thrive,
be warned. For regardless
of your apparent charm or beauty,
I will rip you out, strike you down,
and carry you away.
Every time I wrote the date today
I thought of you and felt a smile spread
across my face, tasting like honey.
Just think, it was nearly a century ago,
probably on a day as lovely as this one,
that you were born, gracing the world
with a loveliness all your own. I miss you.
But oh, how I carry you in my heart!
How I feel your arms surrounding me!
How I know, more deeply with every
passing day, how magnificent you were!
How indebted and grateful I am for all the gifts
you so generously gave to me, and to all
whose lives your courage and gentleness
touched! Happy Birthday, Marion May.
I love you.