When She Walks By
When she walks by the flowers gossip
and their eyes follow her, alert,
later they water the grass like crying faucets.
The sun pouts, deeply hurt.
The flowers watch her dance
and not the great Inert.
And watch the moon advance
like a cocky bachelor in the sky.
Her eyes! Soon he is but a nightlight in a trance.
Always on the move, butterflies
feel atoms in their stomachs, excited
as I am when she walks by.