You may not be willing to notice me.
I have an awkward sense of myself.
My name can be hard on the tongue.
I do not grow easily in places
where the sun only fitfully appears.
I've come a long way northwards.
Gardens do not flatter my needs.
I am a shy sheltered plant - my leaves
first come above the earth slowly -
serpenting about, tasting the air.
Then my stalks flex tentatively
skywards uncertain of grace - people
walk by me curiously, expecting dis-
appointment when my flowers deign
to curtsey boorishly into the light.
They ignore I'm Agape not Eros,
my passion is a mute kind of longing -
a fund of good-feeling - I blend
much more than possess (respect
distance) bestow, rather than demand.
My flowers voice outwards - trumpets
toned down to temper their height.
My scores are obliged to be gentle.
I use only circumspect colours.
Love is better for not being showy.
by Rg Gregory
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| Agapanthus © Jennifer Phillips |
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