Day 9 – shady
It was all gravel and pockmarked
flower beds when we arrived.
For years my mother hated
the orange invasion by marigolds.
The irises, unfortunately, were strangled
by couch grass, and the young man
swearing he loved gardening
did not come back to relocate them.
But I have watched the shade-makers
claim victory in this back yard
claim it, wave its tattered flag messages
to the sky scudding with questions.
They greet me, wave excited arms when
rosellas alight, chatter, and honeyeaters
feast. And teach me no plant is
an island, they grow together.
I always love your garden poems. This is wonderful, particularly 'the sky scudding with questions' and the whole last verse.
ReplyDeleteI have written around the garden theme this time purposely.
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