Dark purple fruit for food
Around here they call it inkberry
Derided by many as unnecessary
Removal from the landscape is customary
Diligent birds replant it by seed
Can be messy indeed
(A Trois-par-Huit Poem)
Tall purple bloom of New York Ironweed
Perched atop towering stiff eight foot stalks
Up at the level where butterfly feed
Safe far above where the deer family walks
Providing so much that native bugs need
Putting small birds near the pathway of hawks.
Flower clouds loom over garden fences.
The perennial grows wild in fields
Flowering in late summer’s shortening days
Feeding migrating butterflies and birds
Pollen and nectar this native plant yields
And seeds upon which the songbirds will graze
Useful and pretty describe in two words.
(An Italian Sonnet)
Burning wood keeps my home warm.
Who is left cold in
( A Quinzane Poem)