When winter spread her mantle wide
My mother brought her plants inside
And filled the summer kitchen hall
With rusty residues of fall.

Bestrewed on multitudes of mats
In flagons, filters jugs and vats
They stood in stunted disarray
Awaiting miracles of May

To nurture fronds and fragrant flames
Of blossoms with exotic names
From patient pale remains in pots -
Last summer's frail forget-me-nots.