The adoration of the daisies

The West coast sun’s spring address
is never missed by his subjects.
The attentive armies hang
on every word
emanating from the splendid
butter yellow throne.

Their petal arms reach out
to catch the golden drizzle.
Every single eye
trained like a satellite dish
on the object of their adoration
every single foot planted
into the globe turning under their feet
the expectant faces
leaning with the spin
so as not to miss a thing.
When the wind blows they lean over as one
holding onto their bonnets.

Then, when the days address is over
They fold their arms and sleep til dawn
dreaming the satisfied dreams
of a people whose god
has not let them down.