Sitting closely to the lavender
Who looks to the mackerel sky
Right next to the bird feeder
And has a golden twinkle in its eye
Is the tiny Forget Me Not, bluer than blue
With a tiny black dot.
Sheltering under the striped bamboo
In a cool shady spot.
She knows a thing or two
She comes back here twice a year
Its roots buried with the Yew
Where no gardener can interfere.
When the sun appears
And the clouds soften
After the rain clears
Which is not that often.
The Forget Me Not will remember
When the dark nights fall
It will be watching by the wall.
In early September