Imperfections

The last patch of lavender in my garden 

 Is blooming; all the others, once vibrant purple, 

Have gone to gray, 

So I thought I’d take a picture of these, 

Glowing in the evening light, 

And now that it’s morning, I see there is 

A stray white blade of grass — 

 Just there, near the center — 

And my photographer’s eye is offended. 

Do I toss the photo? 

 Pull the grass and take another? 

Photoshop it out? Or keep it as a reminder 

Of something age is teaching me, day by day: 

That things don’t need to be perfect 

To be beautiful…