reaching for the sun,
on slender vines, you twist and climb
ere soon your days are done.
You tarry not but make good haste
of every passing hour,
though rain and shine would claim your prime
you clothe yourself in flower.
Though not bold, nor very rare
your blooms show purest blue,
inside those spheres, collected there,
shine drops of heaven's dew.
Little glory, you grace the morn
with beauty you bestow,
see not you, the moth nor thorn
in gardens where you grow.
Oh, tender little morning glory
reaching for the sun,
you surpass the other flowers,
each and every one.
Publication
Honorable Mention, SKAT, 2005
6th Place Winner, Tickled by Thunder, 2006
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