After Margaret Did Not Believe How Soon Forsythias Turn Green

By Joe Benevento - Kirksville, Missouri, USA - 2 August 2013



Margaret was not grieving over golden

flowers deceiving as they gloried

bushes before leaving them emerald

into Fall. At six she could not

remember how soon April

makes December, how red buds',

magnolias', dogwoods' splendor

hardly lasts more than a week.

Margaret loves the forsythias'

little yellow flowers adorning


ours and neighbors' bushes,

collecting them, selecting also

tiny violets, other woodland wild

flowers to adorn an orange

juice glass proud to become a vase.


Blue-purple, white-pink and gold, these tiny

blossoms stay bright as long as their outdoor

cousins but soon top trash ready for discarding,

as Margaret's miscalculations of how long

Spring blossoms linger, will work themselves


away as naturally as May kneels towards

summer's passion. This year, though, she will

probably lament how soon the maples, oaks

and hickories lose their leaves' final fire. For me

resignation leaves nothing left to long for,


so it is Margaret I mourn for.