Haughty with self-assumed height,
From a glare of
green
She stands and
stares her small kingdom
Down,
Queening it over
her unquestioning
Patch of earth.
Myopic with
self-absorbed sight,
Mould and
maggots,
She gives
nothing away – petals
Closed,
Perfume unfurled
against imagined
Marauders.
In lofty,
self-reflected light,
Redly
indifferent,
She dumbly
contemplates her own
Worth,
Considering all
else that lives and grows
Beneath her.
Oblivious to
roses
Other than
herself,
Blossoming with
a more generous
Joy,
She reigns with
withering arrogance
Among weeds.
© Avril
VanderMerwe 1992
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