There is a garden variety
Of flowers before me.
I walk the solitary trail -
Noting the painted valley.
I pass some ocotillo blooms
That look like dripping fire
And dance atop the limbs
And do so with such fervor.
I glance at the brittlebush
And catch the bees stirring
Like the morning hour rush
That goes about excitedly.
I need the lone saguaro bloom
That remains open to the sky
While the dawn is yet new
And is delightful to my eye
And way out there - I find
A palo verde whose billow
Is fainting to the ground
Dramatically so.
The act interrupts my thoughts;
What elegance - what character!
What luck I am one of the host
Of many players here!