Spring didn’t really happen this year. It was winter right up until nearly summer. I’m way behind in my weeding, but the poppies are telling me, “Don’t worry. We’ll put on a show to distract any critical eyes.”
“Order, Order!” shouts the judge.
“Bring this yard to order, please.”
But the gardener’s brain is sludge,
Toes and fingers start to freeze.
Weeds are shouting everywhere,
“We’re part of winter’s doom and gloom.
Come and pull us if you dare.
But wait, what’s this? The poppies bloom?”
Poppies growing where they like,
Squeezing into any place.
What a pretty pose they strike,
Wild and crazy wins the race.