My dreams are haunted now by spikes
of delphiniums; blue and white
and the odd little cream one with a chocolate bee
that I think has only been grown by me.
In my overgrown garden, the tangled mess
is a riot of colour but I must confess
I haven’t divided the burgeoning jungle
for years, and that’s such a newbie bungle.
But this year the whole shebang gets lifted
and a lot of plants are getting shifted
into new beds by the new front deck
where cut flowers will be at my call and beck.
As well as delphiniums, baby’s breath clouds
will buoy up the daylilies, iris, and proud
Maltese cross, the reddest red in the garden
(If you don’t like ‘em I don’t beg your pardon)
And the feathery columbine, like hats I’ve seen
on women trying to look like the queen.
From shy, spicy pinks and the bold tiger lilies,
to grape hyacinths and daffy down dillies,
there’s a whole lot of digging to do in the spring.
Oh, the trowels, forks, and buckets and all of the things
one needs to lift, and divide, and transplant
those delicious, pernicious perennials. I can’t
imagine a happier pastime, although
the beds now lie under blankets of snow.
My mind fills with flowers and my fingers itch
to dig in the dirt. I’m getting a twitch
waiting for spring, and my dreams, as I mentioned,
fill with delight and some apprehension.
Let it be lovely, let the all of the flowers
take to the trip from the old to new bowers.
Till then I’ll continue to garden in dreams,
I’ll fill my head with colour schemes
(although I know the final product
will look like a rainbow that’s run amok).
So don’t expect me at your spring soirees
‘cause I’ll be in my garden. There are far too few days
to get all this done and right now I’m in training
to transplant ‘em all, even if it’s raining.
See you next summer when the battle is won
and the lifting and shifting are over and done.
Come visit and sit in the garden with me
and I’ll pour you a glass of sun brewed ice tea.