Roses, I read , read somewhere,
Are like my love;
Violets are there for when you are blue.
“These are but flowers!”
Are my words to you.
Every Dahlia, when I wake up
I wander in the garden of the world
Unaware of the Daisies to come.
My Tulips taste of the air;
My Irises see the colours;
My Nasturtium smells the fragrances.
Whilst I may not know the make or model of the things that grow;
I can still savour the flowers that ‘you’ know;
And where there’s contempt from a gardener with needs ;
‘I’ can embrace the wild beauty of weeds.