Spring Flowers by Connaire Kensit
Online - 14 April 2021
It's April, and the primroses
Now bloom beneath my cherry tree.
The daffodils are past their best
But bluebells wait impatiently
To take their place. If I were dull
Of wit, I might think, stupidly,
They bloomed like this because they wished
To make the garden nice for me.
But flowers have no consciousness,
No feelings and no empathy;
We err in thinking Nature cares
What our response to it might be.
The apple blossom on the tree
Attracts the bees; it's functional.
It's there for them to pollinate,
But we just find it beautiful.
We need not share the tree's concerns
For trees are quite insensible.
Men may lust after sylvan nymphs―
Attractive, though invisible―
But nymphs are mythical, and hence
For Nature, which is not like us,
Persists in being natural.
Your feelings when you hug a tree
The tree cannot reciprocate.
Though beautiful or edible
The cultivars we cultivate
Lack any trace of gratitude;
They really can't appreciate
The care we gardeners devote
To help their seeds to germinate.
Mindless and purposeless, the plants
Do what it takes to procreate―
Whence come the splendours of the Spring,
Splendours for us to celebrate.
by Connaire Kensit, April 2021