by Susan L. Lipson
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTMEO2U9ZKk3phkZ6jEHnC1O7Pxg5Kt0rBvqS1LSnqTHkahHptNghGdFnwA9CzFGrsIIany-9J5qfO29GvEFajWSals7XQHuE2uwAMo5FbneVddkKdhyphenhyphenTDLb4iyg58t_GqBaTN0FZ07aE/s1600/ivygeraniums.jpg)
I add to the seeds of my ideas
inspirational flow,
figurative fertilizer for nurturing full color,
and empowering light after germination.
And then I weed,
ripping out random growths
that strangle their laconic beauty,
detract from their tones,
cover their distinctive petals and leaves,
and clutter their well-aligned lines
with verbose foliage.
I try to resist clipping a bloom
or forming a bouquet to share
until each flower's growth has peaked,
to avoid publishing prematurely harvested blooms,
which will wilt in the shadows of disappointment.
In verbal vases
I present the bounty,
hoping that you see Beauty and Truth.