Narcissus

It is too soon
to prune but wilted petals

wave provocatively from a
bowing trellis

among the bent stems the sun is pleasing to bare shoulders.

Pulpy worms are sweet to scavenging tongues of hungry birds

plucked without warning from spidery veins of leaves

Elongated roots relentlessly war with nicked and bleeding fingers

I know it it is too early but chaotic gardens long for control
once again.

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