The flowers live here.
This garden is
their home.
Time is meaningless.
They all believe
they are the only
flower
that ever
existed.
And when they visit
next summer
they can't believe
they've gone to seed
& act as if they were
the same flower
of time
gone by.
Their belief
in themselves
...unrelententingly
un-repentently.
From the open
kitchen window
of the house next door
Strauss's Radetsky March
strikes up
& the dozy house
wakes up
its doors & windows
looking startled.
i almost expect
the flowers to fall
into step
& march
out of their
beds
out of the
front gate
down the street
keeping a regimented
brisk pace.
But they don't.
They just chat
back & forth
to the breeze
tickling the hedge
laughing at something
the tree said.
You really are dredging up some old memories with what you are posting today.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What a wonderful and strange point of departure. I love your concepts and the ideas you milk out of them...this one had me laughing at the thrill of it all. My brain enjoyed being stolen and taken for a joy ride. love Dee Dee