Delphinium

How and why their ancestors slowly moved out
From the home pool of algae scum
Onto dry land to make a meadow
Is hidden now. No dream possessed them,
That much is clear, of founding a new nation
Free of old-world law, old-world opinion.
To say they wanted to be delphinium
Is to force upon them a life within
They have no use for. And if they’re blue
Because the competition with other flowers for bees
Happened to be less fierce in that band of the spectrum,
If the shape of their buds reminded the male bee
Of the female, it’s anyone’s guess why the plant
Grew like a column, not like a bouquet or spray.
It looks like a tower rising above the roofs
For viewing the ships of friends or enemies
Sailing into the bay, though the flowers themselves
Are sightless. Good thing our admiring glances,
Unnoticed by them, can’t puff them with pride,
The pride that goeth before a fall. As for the fall
That will soon be upon them, their ignorance
As their one and only future dwindles to zero
Marks a gap between them and us
That can’t be closed. Still if sentiment moves you
You’re free to regard each sprig as an orphan
And tend some yourself, a foster parent
Nursing a baby through mumps and measles.
It shows a big heart to offer succor
Without the expectation of gratitude, though later
The sight of their blue spires
Upright under a leaden sky may seem like a gift.
None looks disheartened, confused, or querulous.
None attempts to flatter you with the question,
“What am I, a delphinium, that thou,
Great gardener, should be mindful?”