In The Gardens Of Midnight Poem by Patti Masterman

The night time wishes to gift you with something rare
but we have become too disillusioned to look for it

We only see commonality all about us, drowning us
we don't take time anymore to scratch
just beneath the surface covering
Time is too dear, the payoff seems too imaginary

Precious, pristine things are not often exposed to free air
the Four O'clocks hide in shadow
what they don't show to the daylight

Casablanca Lillie's have fragrance extravagance to spare
but we label them exotics, and stay far away

Night Gladiolus looks too much like a weed
and might make us itch. We look otherwhere
for our amusements

Evening Primrose seems too prim and occidental
Or maybe we are too lazy
to hunt Moonflowers in the dark
without a moon to illuminate their delicate star-worshipping faces

When you find out you have missed the jewel of seasons
the monarch of expectations
Think again of all those nights you spent surrounded with wonder
and how inexpedient you found it, to wander

Never too far, from your pre packaged, well insulated homes
your urbanely kempt neighborhoods
Feasting on the same plastic hothouse flowers
exactly like everyone else had

Spoils come to the explorer
But only leftovers, to the comfortable