Milkweed

Milkweed in my world, should be,
sugar petticoats skipping down 
from a frowning sky in the brumal winter.
And every sunlight glimmer announcing
ubiquitous Divine Providence, which,
frees my soul.

Milkweed in my world, should be,
the bare branches with mossy, pastel, blossoms,
tickling the cerulean firmament.
And every ambrosial breeze
restoring my chaffed skin, and
blooming in my pale cheeks.

Milkweed, a question, that
collects too much dust in my
restless mind, that longs for beauty, 
and certitude.

And as it should, 
all nature leading me,
in its gracefulness, 
to blessed Divine assuredness.