The flowers rose.
They swept away their thorns.
They wanted dew on their own terms.
Men trod around them, from then on, only with their specific consent,
So specific the sky became visibly geometrical.
The red flowers were first.
The red and white were second.
Violets were insistent.
Jonquils were amazed at their courage.
Geraniums were generals.
There was a tumult of stamens and petals.
The revolution had begun.
Meadows were frightened at the turmoil.
The revolution was against themselves.
It had to win.
From Hot Afternoons Have Been in Montana: Poems
© 1957 by Eli Siegel