Bel Canto Border
An opera is going on along
My garden border at the front of my
Spring lawn. The notes from pinking shears are strong
And many shades of pink, of rose, and sly
White petals, sly because the ruffled white
Is pink if looked at reverently. The frills
Are tragic in their beauty. Petals smite
The soul with sanctity. Gorgeousness spills
From peonies with brightest gold and dark
Streaks at their centers. Bumbling bees
Enjoy the opera the most. They lark
About inside those pollen hearts. The frieze
Of Donizetti music is so sad
That its intensity is mauvely glad.