There is a flower that Bees prefer —
And Butterflies — desire —
To gain the Purple Democrat
The Humming Bird — aspire —
And Whatsoever Insect pass —
A Honey bear away
Proportioned to his several dearth
And her — capacity —
Her face be rounder than the Moon
And ruddier than the Gown
Or Orchis in the Pasture —
Or Rhododendron — worn —
She doth not wait for June —
Before the World be Green —
Her sturdy little Countenance
Against the Wind — be seen —
Contending with the Grass —
Near Kinsman to Herself —
For Privilege of Sod and Sun —
Sweet Litigants for Life —
And when the Hills be full —
And newer fashions blow —
Doth not retract a single spice
For pang of jealousy —
Her Public — be the Noon —
Her Providence — the Sun —
Her Progress — by the Bee — proclaimed —
In sovereign — Swerveless Tune —
The Bravest — of the Host —
Surrendering — the last —
Nor even of Defeat — aware —
What cancelled by the Frost —
seems to be a political poem,applauding for public democracy
My life, my poems are like a solitary flower in the field–useful, beautiful, not jealous of others, brave, yet relatively unknown.