I admire the springtime flowers
sitting in the arms of buyers
moving as sons and daughters—
they lay at rest
Some in peaceful blankets
side by side with others
others by their lonesomes
without a vase or covers
just a rose—with thorns
but still a rose—with scent
They enter in tow
as infants in darkness waiting
for tears: the shape of water
sun rays to be provided
by mother nature’s mothers—
spring garden in bloom