This is one of my earliest flower poems. It taught me, not everything need be a sonnet.

CREATION, DAY 3 : YELLOW AND BLUE

Oxford ragwort in shaggy gold
Lounges under my columbines. His ragged crowns
In tumbled heaps, took hold
In flowerbed and heart, when town’s
New house and empty garden had spaces
Vacant for a cheery rascal
With gold to fling.
Now those grinning faces
Complement the columbines.
The end of spring
No blenching pastel:
Blazing blues and gold combine
The ballerinas and the rascal –
A tapestry of hues divine,
Lasting for weeks, till fluffy seedheads
And crunchy pods must be culled quickly,
Not choke the ground, by falling thickly.

Guest ballerinas and welcome weeds
Have places now to show their graces;
No need to overwhelm us with seeds!