Prescott Park

Prescott Park

People stop to smell the flowers in gas masks.

I wonder who keeps the May-flowers at Prescott Park,
Wonder who keeps the Marigolds on Marcy Street.

I wonder at the May-flowers at Prescott Park,
Wonder how they stay and go year to year.

I wonder of Plymouth down the coast,
Wonder of May-flower landings to our land.

This Land.

"A rock don't do much; don't grow." A kid said.

How many May-flowers drift into Prescott Park?
How many wind glide and set down seeds each new May?

I wonder how many minutes and myths make a Plymouth rock grow.
I wonder if the scent and sense of flowers in May can ring memories

Through blue masks, of the scented and sensible ways
Of Marigolds and May-flowers, in May, on Marcy Street.



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