A Floral Little Florida Town

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

The flowery fragrance flows so far it flows

Across the concrete highway.  Fragrance does

Not know it should not cross the road.  The prose

Of U. S. Highway Number 1 with buzz

Of traffic is not where the citrus blooms

Should spill their unseen beauty.  They should hold

Back, stretching towards lagoons.  The perfect fumes

Of white and yellow should not brush the bold

Swoosh past of semi-trucks and Cadillacs.

The petals meant perfume to float across

The dark green groves not near gray Pontiacs.

The fragrance should have been like hovering moss.

Inside the rows of orange trees the smell

Of blossoms should arise and roam and swell.