<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autopsy<\/strong><\/p>\n Below the towering one hundred foot But now she sits in the yard on a folding chair Or was it an accidental errant spray of herbicide Or, was it unhealthy from the start?
\ncanopy of river oaks and an understory of dogwoods
\nis the brown skeleton of a dead hydrangea.
\nThere is no doubt of its morbidity
\nsince tweaking a branch
\nresults in a resounding crack.
\nWhen she planted it, the gardener hoped
\nthe bush would be large and green
\nwith beautiful mophead blooms
\nas the picture on the carton promised.<\/p>\n
\ndrinking a glass of red wine.
\nShe regards the dead shrub,
\nwondering how it, and so many others,
\nhad slipped away under her care.
\nPerhaps a maladjusted sprinkler head
\nhovered over it for too long
\nor missed its target altogether.
\nToo much sunlight or persistent shade
\nmight have been the culprit.<\/p>\n
\nintended for the invading privet?
\nIt might have fallen prey to an infestation
\nof spider mites, whiteflies or caterpillars.
\nAnd we mustn\u2019t forget the possibilities
\nof overmulching, root rot, or poor soil composition.
\nGod forbid, it could have been the victim
\nof a visit from the dreaded nematode.<\/p>\n
\nA runt of a plant destined for an early demise
\nno matter how good the care.
\nAs she looked at the dead shrub
\ntaking her last sip of Merlot,
\nshe had the strangest thought.
\nA poor gardener is nothing more
\nthan a twisted gravedigger,
\nwho buries the living
\nand has no belief in eternal life.<\/p>\n