Oh battered Primula.
What storms of life have you endured?
Storm, and drought,
frost and heatwave.
Insects rudely snack,
and roots of other plants
invade your subterranean space,
intent on survival.
None are caring of your finer feeling.
There is not point in appealing
to their better nature,
for they will just declare
that the better nature is the stronger,
and more adaptable.
But you know the secret to longevity
lies not in the robustness of your crinkled leaves,
but in the hope that grows at the sight of your blooms,
even in their state of their imperfectness.
