May Queen

The rhododendron doesn’t bloom
like the cherry, in wispy pink petals
that fall like snow in the first wind,
no, the rhododendron blooms
like a queen, standing her ground,
petals unmoved by rain and wind,
until she has her way, speaks
her fill to the bees, casts shade on
lesser blooms, and looks her fill on
baby birds and sun-filled days.
She doesn’t need to fruit or sink her
roots as deep as a tree, no, she
is proud to be a shrub, to remain
in thin soil, never roaming,
and to gather her children close,
lifting her woody arms to the sky.

Notes: A rhododendron‘s bloom is larger than the showiest rose or zinnia, and as grand as a peony or iris. Only the dahlia grow larger, but the dahlia cannot survive New England’s winter. The hardy rhododendron has inspired other poets as well.

From the Rhodora:

….Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
I never thought to ask, I never knew:
But, in my simple ignorance, suppose
The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson