A purple-fringed white iris fades,
Brought it in the other day, ran
Out into the wind-driven snow
To clip it off –it was touching the grass!-
Whisked it inside. Had it propped onto my
Desk lamp, in a tall plastic cup. Couldn’t
Find a glass vase. And, a few days later, now, I cut some
Honeysuckle blooms, sunshined, to place besides the flagging
Iris, which has a lower bud plumping, even as the first withers.
Irises have the faintest of sweet perfumes, honeysuckle, one of the strongest.
Disparativeness is a funny thing. It seems only two perfects can touch,
Without incongruity. So, my lovely garden
Got wind-whipped, but then sprang back. I’ve
Been pruning and preening and watering,
What, I already see, won’t last. First
Gorgeous bursts of flowers are
Saddenly fading. Time progresses on,
As it always will. Strange spring.
Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
4/14/2012 © Copyright