Poem: Bachelor's Buttons

Bachelor's Buttons

It has been hot and humid for weeks,
unnatural weather for your northern latitude,
steamy and draining, sucking the life
from you and the once lush garden

behind your wood frame house.
You stand on the rough board porch
as the bright sun drains the color
from your vision, except

for the bachelor's buttons,
the bright blue weeds at the edge of your fence line,
their strong hues dancing, laughing at the sun,
like a lover whose roots run deeper

than those who have left them on the side of the street
like refuse, knowing that in the end,
those roots, burrowed down, down, down
to God's life-giving water,

are the source of color, joy, and life.

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It's wildflower season up here in Vermont. Those who know me well know I have a tendancy to cut around the patches of wildflowers in my yard, so the yard is pocked with patches of batchelor's buttons and buttercups right now. My neighbors probably think I am nuts (or drunk), but I like the color and hate to cut them down. You can click on the picture for a larger version.

Tom