Chasing bristly memories of the spiral eternal,
Springing in your tribal trails long gone cold.
Circling volumes of vacuumed thoughts thoroughly,
To still have love here bursting through edges bold.
How does a garden of the flowers booming,
Survive droughts lasting winters ages old?
My fingered roots cling to loves seeds you deeply planted,
You weathered me to survive, knowing the long lasting hold.
Only a genius botanist could craft me as a perfect hybrid,
Needing minimal attention that has me bedded in foothold.
And though I survive the droughts in this lonely rock garden,
My petals wilt ever so slightly, rootbound in this rich decayed mould.
If I had the advantage of tears to water my loves dehydration,
I could sustain myself years longer to perk us enfold.
The winds pollenates your whispers, from Texas to Caroline…
They are fond memories remembering me, your beautiful planted Marigold.