It's been
out now
for hours
in the clamoring wind
and
formidable rain—
bumbling,
sponge-wet,
wind-wracked, and
scraping against
the raw, fetid
basin-bottom
of its brain;
wondering—how!
aren't those scraggly
little lambasted
lilac flowers
as disconsolate?
Why? aren't those
spindly stalks
of tulips—more
afraid!
