Sally Strachan’s Summer Garden
By Ilse Kramer
There is a field of daisies,
So white, so without stain,
So flawless,
Nothing torn, all petals present.
Only the centers are blond,
Almost the color
Of Princess
Diana’s hair.
I see clematis in varies colors,
They dance in the wind
And make me think
Of my long-ago prom.
Do the black-eyed susans
Want to be picked?
I look into their deep dark eyes
And I kiss them instead.
In the corner, in the mysterious shadows
A touch of sweet wilderness.
I gather some nettles
I hear they make wonderful tea.
Squirrels are jumping
From fence to tree, from fence to tree, and from tree to fence.
And little birds sing:
God bless America.
Let us gather
Some happiness.