I travel down this road alone
Among the lupins freshly grown
Wildly on the coroner’s lawn —
A fitful life before they’re gone
Away, dispatched by gardener’s blade;
Trim grass is his desir’d display.
Chopped short in early Spring last year,
With vengeance now they reappear
Defying staid conformity
With Nature’s gift, triumphantly
On the green embankment sloping;
Pleasant rural roads evoking.
But time will cycle back at last,
Lupins are doomed — the mower’s wrath
Will lay low the ill-mannered weed,
Returning stiff propriety.
Their time of reck’ning yet unknown,
I snap a photo with my phone.