The Cultivated Concatenation of the Consumated Conservatory - a Story of Aging

Tis' life I bring to my garden gate On a palette of colors by my front door Each day I can play as I cultivate Many blooms I have spawned as a grower Many suns, many moons have sweated and swooned In the coming and going of seasons But now even more the old metaphor Has me thinking of all the wrong reasons For now as I gaze on the flowery state The day has drawn long and lost its mettle As the giving up of the ghost Gladiola's fate And the rankled Rose is shedding its petals The collapsing Chrysanthemum has irritated the Iris While the perishing Peony has drawn to conclusion The senescent Sunflower floundered its prowess The tired Tiger Lily needs an infusion Drooping Dahlias and doddering Daffodils Are waning with dwindling demeanor No enterprise or miracle can save them with sheer will Their disposition will never be lusty or keener It gives a small comfort though to know That even if beauty fades with the turning of the seasons It gathers in blossoms of the moments that in our hearts grow And lasts as true love always fresh, ever pleasing Tis life I bring to my garden gate Each day I can play as I cultivate On a palette of colors by my front door Many blooms I have spawned as a grower June 19, 2019