Just a few poems about my passion

It wasn't my garden

A call to battle

A bright explosion of color
The red of Salvia in full attack

My Snapdragons roar with pink
As the Alyssum bides its time

Dusty Miller guard the border
Mounds of Impatiens lie in wait

Red leafed Wax Begonias wilt
Before the Marigolds yellow wave

Black centered Pansies slowly fight
With Verbenas spreading creep

The Shasta Daisies seem above it all
As the Dahlias simply smile

And through it all one thing is true
The weeds will conquer them all

So striped Petunias trumpet me to battle
As my garden welcomes spring

DWS 2002

It wasn't MY Garden in particular was extremely well done.
Hi, Fedral. Welcome to our home.

A rather nice display, fellow
You have just reminded me once again that there are many ways to make poetry that is worded in a flowery way... without being overdone.

This next poem is of a more personal nature.
My father died when I was 15, it was 12 years before I could bring myself to visit his grave.
When I got home, I wrote this:

Men don't cry

I remember all the things my father taught me

Men don't take advantage of the weak
Men don't tell lies
Men treat ladies with respect
Men don't cry

As I grew up I always remembered

When I was spanked I remembered
When my grandparents died I remembered
When I broke my arm I remembered
Men don't cry

I remember when my father died

I sat in my room in sorrow and remembered
I saw the people around me grieving and remembered
I saw the casket lowered and I remembered
Men don't cry

I look down on his headstone twelve years later

It is cold as dark clouds gather overhead
The raindrops that strike the stone are joined by others
The rain running down my face hides my weakness.
Because men don't cry

DWS 1992