beckoned by jasmine’s last hurrah,
just in time for heady honeysuckle
buds to perfume the neighborhood
and hummingbird- favorite liliums,
this bevy of plants-turned-hedges,
habitat to dozens of finches hidden
within thick foliage, becomes unwieldly.
I prune them several times a year,
and now in Quarantine 2020, this task
is welcome physical activity, but I can’t
chop off bright scarlet blooms of plumes
atop arching stems, ambrosia for bees,
and I won’t destroy nesting finches
or frighten doves to sculpt tidy hedges.
I’ll let those red-tipped slender stems
with wee green leaves reach for bees.
poem by Joan Gerstein
Joan Gerstein has written poetry since elementary school. A retired educator and psychotherapist, Joan has time now to hone her craft.