The simple things

Ode to my gladiolus

 

 

 

‘Tis the end of August, my heart fills with delight

This Summer will end with colour and height

What is this beauty so striking and proud?

Her spine so straight, her colours so loud.

I’m a ‘Glad’ you shout; metaphorically of course

I wish! – a vocal flower would be a powerful force

But your strength your grace your presence divine

Unhindered by drought held up with some twine

She’s twelve inches I swear¬†

two fold that in fact

Her magnificent petals

Freshly unpacked

The reds, the pinks, the purples and greens

Attached by a thread, slight and unseen

She’s sturdy I muse, strong and devout

No wind or rain will clear you out

Just me, your planter, your admirer so dear

Will cut you down all too soon you fear.

I love your blooms

In my house they belong

They cheer up my kitchen

They look like a song

The birds will miss you

The Hummers for sure

As they often come by

to feed and procure

Procure I say, tis a joke you know

its your pollen they want; nectar to-go

So you see my dear friends

The joy that you bring

Is honest and sweet

And will return in the Spring.

THE END


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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