The iris opened wide that day, her plaited petals freed.
The lilacs had declined to stay, the lupins gone to seed.
She looked 'round for her floret mate but one nod from the rose
told her of a tragic fate in spite of love and growth.
Had she been aware of the sad news she'd have opted to keep shut;
She had no choice but to bloom as the orange blossom must.
Green as far as she could see, life bursting out with living
because the grasses and the trees couldn't break their rhythm.
She envied so her sisters' standards, sleeping, dreaming, curled;
wrapped up tightly in their flags while she flaunted hers unfurled.
The crysanthemums stood tall together and resolved to hold their stance,
inspiring clumps of heather to mark the date with dance.
The dog daisies shone their light to honour the deceased,
and no others, still to be untied, sobbed louder than the lilies.
The chive scapes were mortified; they wished to dull their purple heads,
and the hydrangea's blushing sepals cried that they offered their regrets.
The rose hung her flowers low so the iris turned her blades.
Both, just like any rainbow, all the stronger for the rain.
The garden's moral compass had yet to wave in style
but the gladioli felt the loss of one of their own kind.
Before the season perished, before the month had even changed,
they'd be seen paying their respects where the tulip bulbs were laid.
(On 12th June 2016, a tragedy occurred at Pulse Nightclub, Orlando, Florida in the US, where a shooting left fifty people dead. Jo Cox was tragically shot and stabbed to death on 16th June in England, UK. And yet another tragedy, yet another shooting, on 28th June, left more than 40 people dead at Istanbul's Ataturk Airport, Turkey.)
