When the wisteria buds, then flowers
the cherry trees of the neighbours’ gardens
will already have known
their finest hours. We turn
admiration and trailing fingers
to Iris, Rose, the younger sisters;
with them relive a bittersweet chimera
of vital force, and certain power. A crown
passed between nature’s daughters
who share it well, in safe sure knowledge
of a collective throne which does not tarnish:
ephemeral reign, to reign immortal. Love, 
when the wisteria next buds and flowers
we will have known our finest hours; you
must sit at the table we painted
last spring time, in this spring time’s premise.