The Old Camellia House

Here they once tended the camellias;

Now all the camellias are deceased,

Choked by the fresh flora that flourishes

In this broken purposed infirmary

For tender flowers consumed by the years.

The red, remembered as a period piece,

The white, no longer abed, still waiting

For the nurseryman’s nurturing hand.

Now never beheld through the shivered panes,

Les dames were offered no kindly mercy.

Today, the house is enclosed by nature

Before it too will return to the earth,

Reconciled with its red and white patients.