Flowering

My thumb’s not any shade of green

Yet on my windowsill

Are varied plants in flowerpots,

So water them, I will.

 

Most stay the same; they grow a bit

But really do not thrive,

Although I’m happy just to know

They somehow stay alive.

 

And yet my orchid plant (a gift)

Has flowered several times

Despite the fact my city home’s

Not like its native climes.

 

I watch the buds and patiently

Await their opening

So grateful to them these dark days

For all the joy they’ll bring.