Competition

We have come from every district In the whole of our large state. We hold a big convention, Every year around this date. We greet each other cheerfully, I’ve been friends with some for years, Then turn back to our creations as Completion deadline nears. We know what the judges hope to find, They come from our own ranks. They look for beauty and harmony. Their only pay is thanks. We’ve memorized the scale of points On which entries will be judged. Each judge knows the rules by heart And will notice if we’ve fudged. I stand back from my exhibit And sincerely make a try To see not as a mother views her child, But with honest judge’s eye. I carefully adjust another line Before it is time to depart. The judges are impatient for Their judging rounds to start. I wander to another room Where judging is all done. I find to my amazement that My chamaecypais nookatensis has won. It has taken the arboreal award. That is a nice surprise. But it is in the other room Where result of my labor lies. We try to cheer each other As we stay to hear our fate. The judging books are closing. We will not have long to wait. I spy from far across the way, Red ribbon lying there. My flower arrangement’s taken second, Which to first cannot compare. I hide my disappointment And hold back a falling tear. And vow to win the big one In the Flower Show next year.