I’ve never been much of a flower person.
They look pretty and smell good, but I’m bothered.
When cut, you know, they’re now dead.
Why would you want to celebrate with them?
I stepped out earlier this morning,
In the fresh rain and dew, the sun breaks through.
My green plants were shining. Glistening.
New offshoots are drinking in the dawn.
My Rhododendrons are by the house. Rhodies, for short.
They are beginning to show their flowers.
Pink. White. Pretty in an eight feet straight run.
In a week, their blossoms will die. Their season briefly runs.
Then? Those Rhodies will take off and grow like mad.
Cut them back every year. That’s always sad.
But if you don’t control them, they will take over.
Along with the other shrubs I love to see.
If you ask me what to plant, I suggest a tree.
If there is no room, then a flowering shrub.
Anything to encourage the insects to buzz.
So the Swallows, Sparrows, and Robins have some grub.
Flowers are pretty and maybe even sweetly smell,
But they require so much more attention.
Give me something to fill and hide the space
But nothing that requires me to replace continually.
One man’s flower is another’s weed.
A rose by any other name still smells.
But the dogwood flower, or Rhodie buds
It is by far more attractive – not much work.
Now, I can enjoy the Spring.