Pruning

Our blousey algebraist rose
has scrambled, fingers outstretched
up into trees, along the fence,
twisted through a rival honeysuckle
like frantic cancer.
After years of decorous ornamenting
a strike for sovereignty, a garden takeover.
So I now prune and clip, curtail the party
while mourning all these soft pink flowers.

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

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