Death by Rose Thorn

~~~~

My hand was on fire in the wee hours. It calmed a little in the afternoon. I doubt if it is due to the vicious rose thorn that stabbed me last week. Something more mundane, perhaps, like carpal tunnel. The mucked-up hand didn't stop me from hopping along with Willow's Magpie Tales, which asks for a spring theme. Here's the tale of how I hurt my hand:

Where I Belong


The dust lies thick
on all the shelves.
I’ve told the bills
to pay themselves.
I just don’t care
about the floors.
Dirty dishes
are such a bore.
To be honest
the bathroom tub
is filthy and
it needs a scrub.
The dog hair drifts
along the wall.
The laundry piles
are four feet tall.

I’ve turned my back
on everything
to do the chore
that makes me sing.
In the garden
I raise a sweat
with hoe and rake
and violets.
In springtime sun
I weed and prune
and hum a bit
of catchy tune.
The house could fall
I wouldn’t care.
I’m happy here
and crabby there.

Calla lilies’
heart-shaped smile
and hyacinths’
perfumey style
dance with tulips’
cherry red heads
and iris flags
in flower beds.
Sweet freesia plays
with daffodils
and rambling rose
grows where it will.
The fennel fills
the air with scent.
At dusk I ask
where daylight went.

A garden’s joy
is heaven sent.
I understand
what God once meant
to show us in
His Eden, see?
A garden grows
serenity.

~~~~~

A new double daffodil in my collection