David McLansky

(5/24/1944 / New York City)

The Deer Ate My Tulip Tops


Sheared them off, their petals cropped;
The blazing reds, the yellow creams,
Have disappeared as in a dream;
I will not hunt down doe and fawn
Catch them as they cross the lawn,
In foggy mist take their life,
Shoot them, skin them with a knife;
I’ve seen the petals through my screens,
At first light bobbing in speckled beams;
The beauty that I chanced upon
Was sufficient in the dawn;
It seared a memory in my brain,
Its’ beauty always shall remain.

Submitted: Friday, September 13, 2013
Edited: Monday, September 16, 2013
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