I skip and hop
In the perennial spring of the annuals
Etched in my childhood’s annals,
Unseasonably, but welcomed, on any day.
I met them at a tender age,
My friends who remain with me,
Hold my hands and sometime the entire self,
As I frolic through life’s way.
Dense beds of Flocks,
Shy Petunias with that extra cover,
The bold Dahlias, almost egotistic,
Rubbing shoulders with the knotty Marigolds.
The tender Cosmos, from a different world,
Adults almost, for the little ones,
Aster, Pansy and Daisy, out to have some fun
Sharing the shine, air, under the winter Sun.
Portulaca hanging in baskets,
Waving to the stars on the red carpet,
Tendered by the keen gardener,
Under the aegis of my grandmother.
They have followed me everywhere,
My eyes catch and I call them by their name,
They are always overjoyed to see me,
And respond with a wave and a glee.
I don’t have the resources now,
Tangible or otherwise,
To welcome them in numbers,
Like I see them, like I remember them
But they exist in the perennial expanse,
Of my memory, like a vice almost,
I can go to them whenever I want,
To their sight, like a hymn and a chant.
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