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Mother said of all the mid-summer flowers she loved best,
The common garden dahlia was clearly her favorite.
Every Spring she carefully hand-placed the sturdy tubers,
Tenderly caring for each one, watched it bravely shoot up,
Growing, until large luscious red, orange, and purple blooms
Burst forth like the golden globular sun they resembled.

Some have noticed strolling through a garden of dahlias
Is very much like sorting through large boxes of buttons, *
All sizes, shapes, and colors waiting to be selected.
Mother saved the bulbs of her favorites from year to year
Carefully wintered them over in the damp root cellar,
Watching for earliest signs of tender green shoots sprouting.

Mother told us after she became seriously ill,
To make sure a quilt of dahlias lay over her grave.
When she left us at the end of that torturous July
For her bier we had a blanket assembled from her beds
Of the species of daisies, zinnias, chrysanthemums
And, as she requested, several pure-white dahlias.

     *idea from "dahlias" on Internet

FIRST PLACE WINNER
Written March 11, 2021
For "Flower-Flowers (Imagery) Contest
by Constance La France
Each line contains 14 syllables

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