Forget the Scottish botanist.

Humor me.

Is not this name

the name

of a forgotten muse?

Note her veracity:

Spring has come.

Note her tenacity,

her yellow saturation,

and to move out from Asia

and populate the world—

A Dionysian consort

if there ever was one.

Just a twig is all it takes,

stuck back into the ground,

and she’s back.

Our, now global, resilient

trumpeting herald

of Spring.

Roses Are…

An American Sentence

Take it all my love, I’ve nothing else but this meager presence, all yours.

Because I falter on holidays, I reach beyond myself and share with you this wonderful setting of Shakespeare, Sonnet 18, sung by Ed Sanders. Enjoy ❤️ :

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;

Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:

   So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

   So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

William Shakespeare, Sonnet 18

Bleak and Dire

That I could be rooted

as the grasses and the trees

that endure these dire

winter extremes

not in their exposed

skyward extremities,

but instead through

the intertwined networks

extending deep beneath

the frost line, where all

remains untouched

by the vicissitudes

of artic cold snap

and blizzards blowing.