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How easy it is to write of my magnolia
ensconced before my porch and unkept house
the solitary thing that tries to keep
up some semblance of appearances.
Winter lingered on through chilly nights
with temperatures down in the upper twenties
while day by day your buds continued their
pink push against those brown and brittle bracts
that litter now the rain drenched drive and walk.
Your buds then struggled through that frosty strife
only to emerge in pink and white
unto four days of rain and dreary grays.
If by chance they're able to survive
these days and nights of nature's Lachrimae
they will with beauty bold and resolute
inform the world of their notion of shower,
(however fleeting and precarious
such thoughts of beauty are likely to be,)
by going down in showers pink and white
beneath blue skies and wild in sunlight.