Sun shining across my shoulder.

Three potted plants struggling to live.

I expected them to flourish and give

Color and brightness,

Wisdom and lightness

To the space where I write.

Alas they are brown, no green in sight!

Cactus, grass, flowering mass …

I’ve killed them all, withholding a glass.

Perhaps they’re my measure

Of health, wealth and treasure.

A mirror of warning just in time,

To drink, drink water and rhyme!