My neighbors’ yards bejewelled
by April cloisonne
— tulips’ dazzling hues
bowing in the May —
shine more brightly
than does mine
with shyly clever
columbine.
In canny metamorphosis
it changes jester hat
for coronet of wings —
a tulip can’t do that!
As spring gives way to summer
and tulips sag to brown
my columbine laughs last
in green and ruffly mound.
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