A language of flowers permeates throughout

with a Noah’s Ark of trees like cherished colorful filigree

trying hard not to discourage the native born

without the groomed lawns and formality of Longwood

with carefully coiffed flowers on the brick walk

which talk back in Latin tongues.  

Here clouds of daffodils settle down

like cover spilling their overflowing cups,

where flotillas of earnest wildflowers, primrose

and crocuses with trillium underlie each anointed space

bringing spring’s message to embrace.

Where the casting is based on the essence of blooms lasting

and Japanese dogwood, winter hazel, 

Lenton rose, Korean spice bush decorate.

Where March Bank begins, followed

by April’s fruition while May has instant devotion

with no hold’s barred with lack of ammunition.

The Enchanted Woods with inhibitions relenting

for Henry Francis Du Pont understood as a child,

to be free from the solitude of the school room 

to the romance and dance of flowers he understood;

to roam about over hillocks, every child’s delight

and every grown-ups desire to re-ignite the fires of youth;

to set aside books and rules for a second look

at Nature’s prevalence and mood

as if to understand in every nook and cranny

to exhibit colors exotic but true to life like Siberian blue.

Self-sustaining farms when the Depression repressed

the growing of money to be transplanted by the real thing.

Where even the outdoors comes into the mansion;

where each room personifies Nature right outside

and draws into it like an inner sanctum of desire;

where each season brings on all the reasons for being

when Walden’s Pond’s outline comes so easily to mind and viewpoint.