Mummified in icy tomb,
Petrified in snowy case;
Sleeping deep in winter’s womb,
Snuggled down ‘neath quilted lace.
Drowser, nap the cold away,
Tucked and bundled in your bed;
Dream of Spring’s approaching day
As fairer visions fill your head.
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The irony, the irony! The common name of this plant? “Snow in Summer”…
Peony of the garden, of what do you think?
Do your thoughts turn to candy floss dipped in palest pink?
Do you meditate deeply, or do your thoughts flit?
Does your brain enjoy conundrums, or does only foolish fit?
Peony of the garden, of what do you dream?
Does your heart contain fairy tales of knight and castle theme?
Or do you simply wish to soak , lazy in the sun?
Do you yearn for usefulness, or is your purpose fun?
Peony of the garden, of what do you hope?
Do you have contentment, or is your goal to cope?
Do you see a higher call, a purpose for your days?
Or do you choose to simply bloom, and go out with a blaze?
Hosta, hosta, why do you fight?
The raindrops are tears that can wash away pain.
They roll off your tissues and soak through your veins.
They baptise your roots til the sun shines again.
Hosta, hosta, why grip so tight?
Let the drops fall, they can water your will,
Teach it to dream and to drink to its fill,
Cause it to hope and to grow fuller still.
Hosta, hosta, why not let go?
Learn to see diamonds in each drop of rain,
Take in the scent of the freshness you gain,
Let it caress with renewal’s refrain.
Hosta, hosta, pain’s not your foe.
Rain is a gift that will deepen your faith,
Cause your revival from winter’s dark grave,
Bless you with courage to live free and brave.
