This foxglove is so effervescent and bounteous,
spreading its vibrant offspring across the garden with abandon ,
when I was cautioned how difficult and particular a plant they were.
Oh, so many types and sizes of bees have actual, enduring orgies in each blossom of seeming delight.
And I wander by, lean down, peek in and by my glance irritate a blessedly arduous buzzed up insect,
minuscule or ponderously enormous- no matter-
they all delight in this plant,
who does grow and grow their heavy stalks
bearing pickled spotted pink blossoms
just higher and higher, til,
alarmed as I pass by one day,
I run to fetch the twine and an old stake ,
carefully providing a loose yet supportive web
round the luscious, powerful plant,
so as to continue their rapid quest
for the height of the barberry;
the elegant phlox, yes ,
the towering marshmallow ,
careening upward
as Japanese beetles eschew
and the buzzing ones visit
and are embraced to stay.
And now, quiet, this plant and their
numerous offspring do sleep
-and deeply,
out where the frost makes
the rich snoring garden
seem a dead thing.
No comments:
Post a Comment