The Blue Iris
By Mary Grace Dembeck
Email: MaryMary3 at aol dot com
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May 08, 2008
They grew, those irises,
in our ragged little backyard in the city
when I was a young girl —
their gracefully cupped petals
and trailing falls
rising above most other growth nearby.
We called that yard "our garden",
but it was a wild affair:
moonseed tangling with tea roses for supremacy
along the derelict fence;
basil, marjoram and mint
in fragrant bandy
by our kitchen door;
varicolored morning glories
and scarlet four 0'clocks
riotously dividing up the day.
But it was the blue irises —
smelling so incredibly blue,
(or so it seemed to my young mind),
that have always lit my memory.
We never tended them,
fed or divided them,
as knowledgeable gardeners would —
we never knew we should,
yet they grew for us
year after year.
About the author:
I've been writing poetry all my life, ever since I was in the third grade. One day I just may surprise everybody and write a really good one. Meanwhile, I'll just keep writing poems because I happen to love doing it. If that's my only reward, it's worth it. :)
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