How can I compare you to flowers
. I cannot name,
but to color, texture and form,
. I can
as I watch your grace
. bending to the pansies
plucking off the dead heads
. the deft flow of hand.
And your delight in the popping forth
. of crocus and sweet hyacinth,
I would liken you to all of this,
. ending the winter,
bringing forth, too, your orchids
. your great successes.
How barren this place would be
. without you.
. Kent Bowker