Thorns and Thistles It Shall Bring Forth

[prblylaughing]

Thorns and Thistles It Shall Bring Forth

I was pacing in her garden
when she called me in for tea,
but I did not turn back.
I gazed at the leaning daffodils
whose brown heads looked
like burnt caterpillars, thin
and wilting until they fell to the soil.

I inhaled the lilacs,
fingered their soft purple cones
and swatted at the bees
that emerged from my rummaging.
My eyes lowered to the older blossoms;
those had shrunk to untouched tassels of violet,
sweeping the burrs from the dirt.

I caught my breath when I viewed
the Pelargonium pit of red surrounding
the sundial in the center of the garden.
I almost expected them to bleed
as I snapped a few and arranged them
in a fresh crimson bouquet.
I held them low before me like an apron.

I turn back now, stepping over the bunches
of blue chrysanthemums and yellowing grass.
The sunflowers bow coolly to me
where she’s waiting patiently in her long sweater
and I present my flowers to her.
Thank you for the geraniums,
she says as they become thorns and thistles.