Dahlias
By Edgar Lee Masters
The mad wind is the warden,
And the smiling dahlias nod
To the dahlias across the garden,
And the wastes of the golden rod.
They never pray for pardon,
Nor ask his way nor forego,
Nor close their hearts nor harden
Nor stay his hand, nor bestow
Their hearts filched out of their bosoms,
Nor plan for dahlias to be.
For the wind blows over the garden
And sets the dahlias free.
They drift to the song of the warden,
Heedless they give him heed.
And he walks and blows through the garden
Blossom and leaf and seed.
--------
On Thursday we had to take the van to get a new front windshield after something bounced off the highway and cracked it a couple of weeks ago. It took a couple of hours, so we walked to the Starbucks in Target, plus Home Depot for a drill bit and Kohl's to check out the 70% off racks which are currently closer to 90% off. It was a not-too-warm, overcast day, so lovely for a walk.
I had my usual Thursday night Zoom chat, so we ate dinner late while watching the Lions-Chiefs game, then we watched this week's Shelter, where some things are finally starting to come together, and another Grantchester, which went a bit too stereotypical on the femme fatale and Amanda is really getting on my nerves. Some of the dahlia collection at Bellevue Botanical Gardens:
No comments:
Post a Comment