It's easy now to read about them-distanced
        In time and place and mind through almost four
        Long-dead centuries, when one brown, thin-
        Wrapped bulb might buy a house, a ship, or more;

        It's harder to remember a mere five
        Decades back-swift breath to history-and
        Wattled white cement twining along pine
        Planks an equal breadth above moist brown sand;

        And perfect tulips one by one, nodding
        Staid humility to God-gaudy splashes,
        Golden, purple, blood-streaked or pied, adding
        Heat and flame to sunlight's vibrant slashes,

        Waiting all, for lopping-proud errant knaves-
        And final rest upon our fathers' graves.


Copyright © Michael R. Collings, 2004. All Rights Reserved.