by Mary E. Lowd
The daisy blooms are summer’s snow
Frosting fields with white
Like an empty page
Waiting for you to write
Tales of dragons
Tales of foes
Clashing dramatically
Caught in the throes of story
But the dragon knows
When the drama ends
She’ll return to where it begins
—an empty field
A blank page
Summoning the work
Of itching hands
Desperate to write about dragons