Confessions of a Perennial Gardener
Six nurseries ago, I said, I’m through.
Colors cozied up in my backyard, five dozen pots
brimmed full, and Nature praised, More is less.
Anyway, I had little planting time or space
and proclaimed a mid-summer freeze.
That is, until Perennial Sale this week!
How their names enticed:
Elegance Snow cooling Artic Fire,
Peptalk Pink stirring with Red Rum,
Funfare Yellow hovering over Pixie Blues.
Each multi-life a guarantee to fill
the gap annuals leave behind
and fight against the fret of frost.
The choice? Ignore their tags’ advice
and squeeze them into tightnesses
between petunias and marigolds,
behind lines of pansies and mums,
under the semi-shade of maple trees.
More is more: my new rule.
When every bloom has dropped, I’ll wrap
my roots around those tucked in last.
We’ll breathe in winter’s depths,
dream of lives to come,
and celebrate death’s impermanence.
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