The Actual Trumpets of Spring

 

Sauntering through the Botanical Gardens

Spied hardly an azalea opening.

My mood descended

With  their mute display.

 

 

Today they fanfared

The glory of God

 In my front yard,

   A magenta choir singing skyward

Actual trumpets of spring.

                           I remember my first glimpse

Of rainbows of azaleas

In the Boston Flower Show

Outperforming every glorious display

And on me imprinting the season.

Now the fanfare of azaleas

Turns the magnificent season

Into my Ode to Joy.

My apologies to daffodils and phlox

The early chorus chanting bravely

But leaving me wanting more.