But Who Am I

My potted daffodils perversely spurn
Onto the floor their miffed-noses careen
Nature's affronted and my knowledge awry
I’m helpless to know why
Why does the ivy wilt and each clay urn
About the house drop in dejected green?

Outside, beyond the patch of crabgrass lawn
Live the unkempt cousins, vine and thorn
Who burst like vibrant antelope
Excrescently leaping over the slope
In gustos of inebriate tangled bouts
They clamber and spread their choking routs.

More years than I have mazed that yard
To its wild extravagant disregard
But who am I to slaughter strife
That cannot to a pot give life?

No comments:

Post a Comment