Thistle Down

By Ethel

Wild Iris

I'd like to walk,
And see...wild Iris bloom.
To wander by a gurgling stream,
Where rootlets reach for room.

Where all the lower waters,
Little distances can wedge.
Filling bits of grassy moss,
All around the edge.

Where little cataracts,
Drops down an inch or two.
Where moisture drops upon the stone,
Makes stems fresh, and green, and new.

Where shadows know the sun's decent,
And in that shafted light.
Sweet Irises stand here and there,
Preparing for the night.

O...the misty blue of flowers,
Are treasured by my eyes.
And I trace them in my vision,
As the beauty of them rise.


E.P. 1908 - 1989

Missouri Iris

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