It’s rhododendron season,
And their lacy ebullience enchants me;
Hints of purity and weddings,
A lush promise of perfection and abundance,
Yet still I mourn the lilac bush
I’m told once graced our yard with scent
But was torn down to make room for our garage.
I tried to plant another
But the deer keep nibbling on
Its leaves and branches:
It looks like a pile of sticks, and never flowers.
I try not to let what’s lost overwhelm
The pleasures of the Now.
No comments:
Post a Comment