Sweet Violet

Bee's heads jar you,
opening your little pollen box,
whereby your contents get carried away
and rubbed off, fertilizing the next in line.

Still, your pale purple blossoms
rise from angles
of heart shaped leaves.

Why is your style so thin?
In order that the bees may bend it?
Why is it bent?
Same reason.

Persistent and pugnacious --
a most pernicious weed!
Of Old-world origin, naturally
(like rats).

Shy, harmless native weeds
retreat as you vie for space,
planting evil colonies.

Hardy bell,
swaying with exquisite grace
upon a tremulous stem.

Though frail in heat
and dainty in appearance,
you are fitted to withstand
ferocious blasts.

Bridal token, your leaves are deeply cut.
Bleed as they dangle you
with dill beneath the horseshoe
in the doorway.

Ai is Japanese for 'indigo,' not just 'love.'
Your bid to substitute for the real thing
was unsuccessful.
Typhoid Mary could have used you.

Gay deceiver!
Butterflies hover about you to no avail.
Even the smart bees
are credited with scant sense.

Scanty flower,
least attractive of the lobelias,
the stupidest of the lower mammals
knows enough to leave you alone.

Bur Thistle

Painted ladies hover o'er your purpley tufts;
a caterpillar weaves a web about you,
his main food source.

Weary farmers despair
of ridding their fields
of one so adept at winning battles.

Monkey Flower

Little buffoon,
with your gaping face
and overly sensitive stigma,
you are peculiarly irritable.

Your drolleries are such
they summon the buzz of insects
who become pollen laden
during the show --

applause is your desire.