Strong stemmed, they balance multitudes on their heads.
In their roots, the ley lines of all the world adhere.
Magenta, rouge, and rusted-iron petals, velvet to the touch,
Can add their glory and slightly bitter taste to brighten ice cream,
Yet from all this glory – no fragrance and no sound.
They breathe the sun, reminding me of Aunt Jinny
In her Salisbury garden who sang summer with them.
Long stemmed, short lived, they are fully “woke”.
It is told that if these annuals come back another year
Your fortunes will expand.
Yellow petals of its head, used in a tisane, will sooth an aching heart.
Ablaze, they exhale joy.