Mike Stone's poem starts by announcing itself as a "song of symbols" and then hands us a handful of them: clocks, stars, a kite tied by a string to a rock. Each image pulls in two directions. Clocks suggest time passing, stars something vast and far off. The kite wants to rise, but the rock holds it down, so the picture feels like longing that can't quite let go, or freedom kept on a short leash.
Then the poem narrows to a single small blue wildflower on a slow, grassy hill. The pace drops, and the last line brings in a person: "A little like Noellen, I think." That "I think" matters. The speaker sounds unsure, almost murmuring, as if the resemblance has just occurred to him. The mood is quiet, tender, and a little wistful. After all the big symbols, the thing that carries the feeling is a modest flower, and the speaker's thoughts of Noellen seem to be what the song was about all along.