How not to be like the daffodil
that rises early
only to be slain by a late frost
and laid to rest under white snow
How not to be like the tulip
so colorful and candy striped
so fortuitous and flirtatious
so irresistible to little fingers
bursting and becoming
only to be plucked by a child’s hands in the afternoon
and discarded in the evening
How does one resist the temptation
of the lily
to rise yearly on the same familiar ground
pushing last year’s debris aside
only to scatter petals
on the same still soil
We do not know yet
how to cultivate the rapture of the rose
without the guard of our thorns
Or how to smile like the sunflower
without inviting the birds
to peck out the seeds of our teeth
And how to escape the honeysuckle trait
of all that is good and sweet in us
amounting to one difficult drop
I never knew
how to pull my stalks from the ground and run
as the weeds begin to choke
with their rampant opinion
of what the garden should look like
And I never knew
how to stop the petals from withering
as I gazed down that staid stalk
into the quicksands of time