Where Old Boats Go

The formal gardens won't have them
neither those of the royals
or even the commoners

the roses say nay
the snapdragons turn up their noses
the begonias, well, they say begone, of course

but the goldenrod and loosestrife they are adamant
welcome home dear creature
now your work is done

the weeds respond with open arms
the fish smell they don't mind
nor the enormous spatial imposition

the weeds say darling I forgot your name
but here you have a home forever
dry your tears and come to bed now

26 August 2017
Texas Jim
granitecoast.ca