Q Perennial

The gardener, nearly blinded by age, said,
"She thinks she's budding.
She's not.
She's re-budding."
Though he has not been around
the gardens much lately.
He could tell from the words
at the recent sprouting.

He knew that plant -
As an old-timer, he always referred to them as "she" -
had budded before
in some other place,
and maybe blossomed some.

He said he hadn't been there, yet he knew
she had come awfully close for sure.
"I wonder what color the blossoms were,
if they were?" he said,
while looking down,
leaning slighty into the breeze
to balance his gardener's sack on his back
bulging so with zipper broken and cover flapping half open.
He had no memory of her having been re-planted.

Turning away, he said somewhat more loudly,
and the wind carried it,
"Maybe she wont't blossom, although she should, this time, or here anytime.
For certain she will sometime.
She will someplace.
With the sun where she is,
it could be nearly anyplace.
Replanting is not a problem."

"She thinks she's budding.
But she's just re-budding.
That's what perennials do,"
he laughed.

C 2000
sarpedon Like the flower
Every year it happens
That same time of year
Another dance
Another time for reflection
I raise my hopes
Energy wells within
I make feeble attempts
But fear crushes me
I can't do it
My only wish
Must wait another year
'Another year' I say
And another year goes by
. . 050307
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