sonnet on the plant my sister gave me, why she gave it to me, and that it worked.
A simple pot of dirt with leaves to fail,
a quite portentous gift for Christmas day.
Then five frail limbs from ground to sky sought trail,
four leaves above with signs of brown decay.
One water found, which plumped and grew less lean,
and light enticed another with her torch.
The pair of stems, on each a leaf dark green,
were left alone to grow, that idle March
would see the plant unwrap a new sprung shoot.
The leaf unfurls as flags in summer breeze.
This life so fresh, a sign of future fruit,
a plan much loved that only now can please.
A simple plot to coax a plant to bloom
fell on fertile ground, a child in her womb.
I have more information, and pictures of the plant and mother-to-be on my flickr site: