I don’t often write poetry.
But this week, on an early May-time walk through the woods and across the common near home, the girls got me noticing vast numbers of easily-missed wildflowers. We grabbed my phone, all started taking photographs, and I was inspired to write a short poem.
It’s laid out nicely as a one-page download on my Travel Tips page (under Non-Travel Stuff From 2020...) – but also appears below as text, followed by a few photos.
(Back to a travel story next week...)
THE BEAUTY OF WEEDS
You cannot be a weed!
Oh, you princesses of the May meadows, The woodlands, riversides, hedgerows.
Not for you the garish, tropical bloom, Shouting your size, Blaring your smell, Sirening your brazen hue.
And yet, when I start to see, When I peer in close...
Such delicate beauty, Such elaborate sculpture, Such intricate inscription, Such colour!
(And who would guess that even awful ‘sticky weed’ has Tiny, secret blossoms? White, with four dainty, pointed petals.)
Three petals, four petals, five petals, many petals, Smooth petals, lobed petals, Symmetrical petals, crooked petals.
(And why five? When six would fit so well... Do you aspire to humanness? Do you try to imitate my hand’s five digits? – Take heed, my hand will not pluck you! – Or is Fibonacci, once again, working his Unending spiral?)
I peer, and spiral in. (Georgia would approve.)
Your tiny flower becomes My world for the moment.
Who decided you are a weed?
Magnificent wildflowers!
Amanda Spice, 5th May 2020
[Use arrows or swipe to scroll photos.]