Create challenges us to celebrate May. Bah. In May, the duties of a small-town dweller merely change from shoveling snow to hacking up weeds. I am supposed to have farmer genes – generations of Gheorghenis followed this calling – but I lack them almost completely. My usual reaction to the state of the lawn is, 'Oh, goody, lots of clover. The bunny who lives under the tree will enjoy this.' This curmudgeonly poem is dedicated, with apologies to Mr William Wordsworth, to all you frustrated gardeners out there.
The Triffids…er, Dandelions
I stepped with purpose, like a guyWho's been around, armed with my hoe, The daffodils I did espyIn glorious bloom, all in a rowBeside the house, all in their beds, Breezily shaking their gorgeous heads.Continuing my gaze, I thoughtHow good the scene, how great the day, When to my anguished eyes was broughtA sight that filled me with dismay: A thousand dandelions preenedAcross the verdant lawn they greened.Wild blooms beside them danced, but theyOutdid them all as ninja flowers, From sidewalk cracks they seemed to say, 'You're going to lose, the yard is ours!'I hefted hoe, but little thoughtWhat fate the garden show had wrought.For now, when on my couch I lie, Nursing my sprained and aching back, They flash upon the inward eyeThat registers the sense I lack. And mock the gardener who willPart dandelion from daffodil. The Dmitri Gheorgheni Archive
Dmitri Gheorgheni
11.05.15 Front Page
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