The Geranium

By Virginia Scott Miner

It had three leaves last fall

And those so very small

That saving it at all

Seemed more like waste than not.

And still, to let it die

of cold was more than I

Could do; so, with a sigh

I put it in a pot.

At length its three leaves grew

To five—but those, it’s true,

Though glossy, were small, too.

Yet, taken from the room

And set outdoors, it first

(Of all my plants the worst

Last fall) has quickly burst

Into bright-clustered bloom.

How needless was despair

When blossoms rich and fair

Were latent, rooted there—

The miracle is begun,

Needing but warmth and sun.

Photography by John J. Reid