Blue, Green, Red and Purple: Moonflower (Datura)
Betty Collins's poem is imbued with natural peace.
in the late afternoon
dusty pale bells hang innocently
humbly
and as the moon rises the subtlest of scents
seeps through the undergrowth,
wafts on the slightest of rustles
of dry leaves, damp grass,
fallen twigs,
scraggly pale emerging seedlings
It is little wonder that she thinks
eating the seeds
will give her peace.
