Sonnet #152

oh hard bitter rue, what became of you?

dishwater green, and dun-colored yellow blooms

aromatic oils to kill your neighbors for elbow room

left a rash when anyone tried to walk near you

eventually little golden pimples emerged as infections

they turned black and pulsated, living, growing

Until the little eggshell cracks, exposing

The servants of the rue, upon close inspection

The tiny things cleared out the foliage, made room

For new growth, and ate away other infections

The bigger, the prettier, striped golden white and blue

Ate skins when they cracked to make new skins

Chrysalis, and patience for the fruit of the rue:

Swallowtails soaring like velvet paintings that flew