My son decapitated my iris,
The only one to bloom
In its strap-leafed planted row.
Despite my neglect
One periwinkle blue
Had pushed through
Unfurling ruffled petals
Like a banner announcing goods.
No wonder he snapped it off;
Its curves and colors
So enticing.
And after dismay,
A scold and a pout,
I recalled that the Maker
Resets the cycle
To bloom irises again
Next year.
More on flowers: Vicariously Smelling Roses
Posts
Comments