Blue, magenta, violet, and white,
reaching and swooping like a tail of a kite,
while clinging to cover an offensive sight
of barbed wire protection from thieves in the night.
These morning glory blossoms, so gentle and frail
take what once looked like the back of a jail
and beautify the view into bright and pale
tuba-like petals doing the dance of a sail.
This poem is a true story of the barbed wire fence that surrounds the football field behind our house. It's another example of how lemonade can be made out of lemons. Now, when I look at what used to be an eyesore, I can't stop looking at the beauty of the morning glory blossoms. Thanks to the kind words of a reader, I expressed today's post in the form of a poem. Thank you, Sandy.
The photo, "Bottle Bottom" is new and has nothing to do with the poem, but here is a picture of my morning glories:
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