Sylvia's Flower Garden
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Musky fragrance inundates
my nostrils as I enter
the garden center:
a rhapsodic feeling
in idyllic surroundings.
The air is humid
like an Amazon garden,
heat barely tolerable
making my glasses misty.
Soft music, dulcet and sweet,
swamp the amazing conservatory. The caterpillar had shed off its chrysalis,
and a perfect swallowtail butterfly appears.
It fluttered here and there
tasting the marvelous flowers around.
My cup of felicity abounds.
All around a miscellany of colors
enticing the radiant buyer with anything
that catches his fancy,
and I, mad about plants,
run in frenzy
from pot to pot,
stand to stand,
plot to plot,
inflame my smell nerves
with sweet sapphire orchids,
enchant my eyes with
white bearded irises,
become delirious with
a blood red amaryllis,
inhale the fragrance
of a white gardenia,
or lose my mind
on a black eyed Susan.
Which exotic plant must I choose?
It would be my talisman for my home
What shall I buy?
A red pyramid astilbe,
multi-coloured plethora of petunias or
scented forget-me-nots?
Or better still a dwarf
Deep red rose?
I feel my empty pockets,
I let out an ephemeral sigh,
and go back home,
empty handed alas.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2021
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