the sun’s affinity
for her ebony skin
was nothing short of worship
and the ivy graced her limbs of its own accord -
as if her body were an altar
and the vines her acolytes
and the birds praised her with song -
in their hymns
that blessed her ears alone
and the marigolds bloomed atop her head -
her own crown
of citrine and topaz
for after all
she was Spring
and the world
was her garden
- anon