she hunts for the perfect blossoms
and odds and ends, she has uses for them
those with strangely mottled leaves or browned petals,
a quick clip, rip,
lilies are her favourite, but roses?
in her front garden which she lovingly tends,
she has built up a fortress of scents and shades
that stuns the senses.
I watch her from the front doorway, as she bends and plucks
and snips and adds,
immersed in a task she adores,
suddenly, a subtraction:
one bloom falls.
discarded by the wayside,
that one shall perish.
I giggle to myself at his misfortune.
I can’t help it.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.
Photo credit: Myself
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