Flowering
My thumb’s not any shade of green
Yet on my windowsill
Are varied plants in flowerpots,
So water them, I will.
Most stay the same; they grow a bit
But really do not thrive,
Although I’m happy just to know
They somehow stay alive.
And yet my orchid plant (a gift)
Has flowered several times
Despite the fact my city home’s
Not like its native climes.
I watch the buds and patiently
Await their opening
So grateful to them these dark days
For all the joy they’ll bring.
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