growing a garden...
planting, sowing, weeding...
a flowering flirtation.
One patch of beauty
was all I hoped for,
a mall store facet is all I got.
The gardener realized
the greatest dream...
that she and the plot were one.
It thickened,
a tiller was born,
as she waited
for the blossom of ode,
one ditty of beauty...
it came.
Trumpeting jonquils,
in the ever planned diamond of hope.
The meme wheel is turning
towards the harvest of a year.
The question is asked,
Which winter lips?
The answer: Tulips,
in the Spring of your future.
Wax on, John Done.
