Long, long ago,
when I was very young,
there was a folksy ballad
plaintively sung.
“One meatball!”
was the soulful refrain,
and now it recurs,
stuck in my brain.
One rudbeckia
is all that I got,
a full-throated solo
in one flowerpot,
brass grand finale
in luminous ONE
as my garden is close to
officially done.
There’s hint of embrace
in this radiant burst,
a hug for the elders
that all blossomed first,
a farewell to the summer,
and hail to the fall,
singular reminiscence
of one sorry meatball.
I didn’t ask for this old song to pop into my head,
but my head often does things without my permission.
Besides, for those (few) of you who know this old song,
one ear worm deserves another, yes?
A frilly dot of marigold
Oddments 