On gloried mornings I behold
how Phillis thrives as marigold.
Corinna in her gracious way
became the dais-ed fame of May.
Full- blossomed Julia, sans her clothes,
now flames flushed warmth in blush of rose.
Irene is iris, hand-picked choice,
her soil would sing, could dust have voice.
The garden prospers every year:
another lady's mulched career.
Each woman's winter withers days
but Spring in flourish will amaze.
Yes blooms spill dyes in thrilling shades-
yet they remain, at root, my maids!
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