Flower Operetta
in sestina

My flowers stage a concert all their own,
indicative of their dear style and voice.
While Rose within my trellis stands and quakes
with tremors such, a diva could arouse,
Peach Blossom croons in her soft, southern twang
as tulips chime to Canterbury Bells.

Combining pitch with Canterbury Bells,
Day Lily hums most sweet a hymn her own.
Soon China Aster, in her Asian twang,
accompanies dear Daisy’s screechy voice.
I'm smitten how my divas can arouse
my heart to flutter with such joyous quakes.

Unlike my Rose, the Cactus seldom quakes
(the grandest one of all my flower belles).
With operatic grace her shrieks arouse
the gods on high with all the grace she owns
'til Heaven blends together with her voice
and shrieks of bliss become angelic twang.

Yet, not all flowers have a noted twang,
nor can all flowers sing with shrieks or quakes,
for Violet allures me with a voice
which echoes sweetly like a distant bell
where she rescinds into a world her own
that only golden silence dare arouse.

Some say I’m mad to claim such flow'rs arouse
to haunt my dreams with lilting notes that twang.
Perhaps I am not well to hold my own
(a mere five feet who’s cursed with devils' quakes)!
I question if it’s madness to hear bells--
to hear the arias of garden’s voice.

But, be I sound or mad, I beg to voice,
my divas take front stage! When they arouse
on garden's lawn as leading-lady belles.
It matters not each starlet’s style or twang!
In chimes and shrieks or tremors, croons and quakes,
each songstress I embrace as if my own.
............................

From garden's bed I hear the church bells quake
where voices swell in eulogistic twang,
arousing me from sleep with bliss their own.


Susan Annabelle Crowe © 2005, Tales Flowers Tell