I have planted purple to please you
though the bells broke from their tower
and rolled across the petty patch,
now purple. I would a wood to let them range
but seven feet by twelve cannot contain
their wanderlust. Bees’ knees
tremble with longing to pack the pollen
in their pouches. There’s a buzz about
this garden. Ant on deck tracks crumbs
left by babes on the wood. Snail (male)
seeks, languidly, a love for slowest dancing.
Worm dives deeper where it’s chill
while woman, khaki clad on cushions green
could be a plant if not for fleet feet.
Purple sprouting broccoli is ripe to pick
but radishes and rhubarb beat that root
when sweet heat entreats a cooler plate
and shivering wine glugs plums to inner depths.
First published in Star Tips for Writers