My Garden Dahlias

They make me wonder--- What fingers wove the tapestry of their being! The splash of violet here, mauve there, white with red stripes— They stand tall and do not bend till the wind forces them to. Though soft, they manifest dignity. When stress and depression shoot their thorns, A glimpse of these beauties spell discipline. ‘We are of the earth and we belong to her. She has given us beige, yellow, red and has waited For us to grow, in effort and ecstasy. When butterflies, birds and bees hum around We greet them with glee. We fear not. We bear the heat, the dust and the cold-- Even in pain, in disdain, we find the sun.’ In their company, I find freedom. And In their being, my soul.