april showers

these flower beds, with
geraniums and
daisies and little pink
roses, a rebirth
inside their earthy
bed; look
so bright behind the
white
fence, pickets
like turrets on
a castle, spikes
of their fortress,
on their soil
home.
they sit, every
day and sing
as i pass, taunt
my hard-earned
poverty with
their fragrant,
ornamental lives.
if i only had
the time to garden,
the money,
the patience;
sing sweet, little
buds, while
i pass, for now...
you will fall
into winter silence
soon enough.

k.