Gardenia

Standard

On the high round table it stands;

small plant in a plastic pot

tender leaves

turn to the narrow window,

angled

to meet the faithful morning sun.

We water it daily,

carry it carefully

to the deep sink for a good, long drink

and then back to its own bright place

estranged from the wilder yard by double-pane.

Sudden as September,

it happens.

In the grey morning,

bathed in their own pure light

bright blooms, fragrant breaths

of insistent life,

sing the sweet song

of survival.

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