how dare the Morning Glory spread her bloomers in the day.
does she not know that flowers should never act that way?
what does she think, this creeping vine, that all the world is hers?
what is the cost in traveling that her selfishness incurs?
.
every morning its the same thing, the dew is on the bloom
its the morning glory crying out for drama and for doom.
jealous of the blue birds hue and that of the blue jay,
tired of being friendly, she curses them away.
.
she has no thought for others in her garden by the wall.
her heartless heart shaped leaves choke out the sun and that's not all.
underneath in shady places worms and insects hide
eating the decaying corpses of things that fell and died.
.
she beckons to a swarm of bees, she sways her hips just so
its as if this pollunating is the only life she knows.
the bees in their aggressiveness ravage all her flowers
killer bees that seem endowed with otherwordly powers.
.
nature after all can be a dangerous cruel place.
in a world that's fallen, that has used up all its grace.
no more a peaceful garden, its residents have changed.
and in the still chilled dark of night all is rearranged.

05/24/2003

Author's Note: I imagine after God's grace has left this Earth, that even the beloved Morning Glory could suffer such an alteration in her nature.

Posted on 05/24/2003
Copyright © 2024 Mary Ellen Smith