Garden Party

All dressed in green, the rose bush beams like a child's blushing cheeks and pursed lips; these debutants jilted by bees forever wanting to be kissed. A carpet of phlox giggles like a young lady and drips over the wall like a Dali clock, tickled by fingers of lilies and daisies still waiting to dance, demurely frocked. Impatiens wink at the pansy's goodbyes, while hostas and petunias wave. In the light of the late springtime sky all in the garden would rave. No need for people, they've nothing to prove because flowers can party too! ~Through a wisteria laden arbor~ Ah, the robins are here rummaging in the grass and they just left the blueberries over the hedge, a glutinous embarrassment for sure, but as deer prance so properly, I'd rather robins instead; at least they don't consume the guests, or should I say, permanent party participants. Like a "who done it" dinner it's a safe bet they'll win, if the catnip and snapdragons can't. What's the purpose of being pretty; ogled and cut by people and eaten by deer - it's the talk of the party and nasty. Gossip is (don't tell) that our favorite guests aren't here, the honey and the bumbles do tickle and tease and though perhaps used, we're left pleased. Modern/Contemporary Sonnet (mixed meter-slant rhyme-uneven line length)