My mother still plants flowers
In her garden every year
There are tomatoes and cucumbers
Pumpkins and squash
Figs and pears bend the branches of her trees
Herbs live outside the kitchen window
And every year there are flowers
Roses climb the fence
Daffodils and columbines in the front yard
An angel trumpet calls to heaven
And a Confederate Rose is at the bottom of the drive
My mother’s garden is nothing without flowers
The crazy quilt image of all these lovely fruits and vegetables comes alive in your poem. I’m not sure it needs the last line, as you’ve shown us how lovely (& necessary) the flowers are, that do not fruit. You migh add a few lines that address that…?