While the dew coughed
Up many promises
Exhaling, until evaporation
Desires, droplet-sized,
His tractor tore swatches
Ripped neat rows of moisture,
Mowed, and otherwise raked,
Hope into piles,
In some boudoirs,
Lavender’s a weed
Thistle conjures no medicinal richness,
Boxwood’s unknown.
Those sites find marigold grace,
In municipal dividers, and
Welfare in yellowed wallpaper,
Whose printed roses affix even tiles.