There is a garden variety

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!