Jonquil Evolution

The scent of jonquils
always awakens something
similar to spring:

slightly more, and less,
than the first time I travelled
on Bilbo’s shoulder;

back before the world
became solid, when pixies
still danced in gardens.

My old forty-five
crackles to a close, even
magic dragons sleep.

Multi-lane freeways
bypassed Cherry Lane, culled the
Hundred Acre Wood;

the evolution
and degrees of love
bring thoughts of jonquils.

Ryan Stone

Sketch courtesy of my dear friend, Dajena, over at Moonskittles.

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