the color of purity, or brand new, unused cloth diapers,
(I remember those days so fondly.)
The green leaves are the same shade
as the grass my sweet husband mows.
Standing as tall as 150% the height of the vase
(I don’t really love math,
that’s just keeping those skills from getting rusty.)
Each day on the way to #64,
it opens a little more, gently,
as carefully as we open the door
when we KNOW April 1st is hiding a trick somewhere.
The fragrance is subtle, but oh so pleasant
so subtle that it can only be sniffed deliberately
and worth the effort.
by Nancy Ann Smith