Marigolds always remind me of you,
I guess because you despised them so.
Were the flowers too ordinary or
their spicy fragrance offensive
to your superior senses?
Were their colors of yellow, orange, gold,
rust too garish for your discriminating taste?
Too bright, too gaudy, too common?
A lowly flower found in cheap seed packets
and blooming in less tasteful gardens,
their cheerful, happy countenance, a childish bouquet.
We were never the exquisite flower to place in your lapel,
marigolds and me.
— Kathleen G. Everett © 2012