I hear your distant rumblings.
Your grumblings do not impress.
I can shut the windows
and let your storm pass by.
The poem is entitled Tiger Lily
but the accompanying photo
shows a Stargazer Lily.
I am trying not to mind.
My father,
born 1914,
grumbles about his sore eye
and sighs,
“I guess
I’m getting old.”
.
.
(True story).