(a gardener’s poem)
Bending, I watch you dance
Twist in the wind
Anchored by slender stems;
Barometers of spring blooming early,
Wearing hearts on your petals.
Things that harm us may seem sweet
But you’re not here to harm;
Any fool can see that.
It’s warm, so you’re flowering.
No malice in you – and not
Our usual portent of doom.
A pity for you that your future is so
Wrapped up in ours.
We’re advised to divide you for vigour;
So we get the more we’re genetically, culturally,
Programmed to seek.
Nature programmed you to cluster together.
We interject: disrupt, tend, split, move,
Doing nature’s work as if nature
Somehow got it wrong.
A mercy you don’t care whether you live or die.
(You don’t, do you?)
Galanthophiles say you’re happier that way,
And, by going forth, will multiply.
Is it just that you long to be in an overcrowded home again
Where roots touch roots as they expeditiously explore
Sensitive roots creeping out
And down into dark soil together,
Searching out nourishment
To plump the bulb.
You flower, set seed, wither for a season,
Then are back, fatter than before.
Your rhythm does not seem like ours, yet we
Thrill to it.
Your rebirth, your new whiteness,
Activates our primitive need.
Your tenderness defies
The harshness winter has in store.
Snow and frost lay you low,
But you bounce back, heads lifted.
You seem eternal. Eternal spring in winter.
Imagine our world if next year there were
You just didn’t come.
In response to the Daily Prompt: Gone.