Appendix to the Deeds

Do gardeners, aged, count in flowers
Days, hours, the decades passed
Or moments, measureless, when surprise
Like children's primed their eyes?
Heedless it could outlast
The rare exquisite lost,
Hurricane-tossed, blighted,
Names as exquisite, all mixed up, benighted.
Steadfast, it's weeds that return
To make and mark a season
Now that no weather is true,
Cloud-blocked, cloud-swept or fine.
Together here they grew
The greater and the lesser celandine
Restricted but allowed
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