Buttercups

Buttercups

We are buttercups, you and I;
Don’t you see? The wind,
Tickles and taunts us, like words
So promising, they seemed.
They taught us to dance, and they
Held our hands, drawing us into their
Primitive ritual. Yet we, the buttercups,
The Golden things, we were ensnared.
By our own, not-so-promising words;
By our humanity.
We never did learn how to dance.
Yet you snapped our stems, you
Broke our bonds. Freedom, the cries went,
With words of promise,
Is all we need. And beauty,
Like yours, you told us; another flimsy oath.
You drew us into your fun and your games,
And we played. We sung, and we flew, and
We danced, just the way you taught us to.
Yet when it was all over, when the wind had died,
When the fun and the games were gusted away,
We fall, our paper wings torn away, and our
Fragile hopes deserted us,
As we flutter towards the bleak, bitter dust.

Did you not wonder why we never danced in church?