that's mrs. mediocrity to you

.

.

on lilac buds
and scattered leaves

in the garden
there’s a metaphor
for everything

today i see
new growth

the cycle of decay

a patchwork
of green promises

i see the backache required
to corral tomorrow

i feel the sun
on the lines of my face

i hold the love
the toil
the acceptance
in the palm
of gnarled hand

i control nothing

.

. . . . .

.