Sunflower

It lacks the grace of other flowers,
yet pompous and affected, it lifts
its swollen head above the garden.
As I reach out for its sturdy stalk
my hands brush past sandpapery leaves
that rasp harshly against my dry skin.
Above me the heavy cap hangs down,
chock full of protein-rich, dusky seeds
encircled by mustard-bright petals.
When the seeds mature chickadees feast
with glee until broken shells rain down
and the plant's black face is pale and bare.
Graceless still, and bent in its old age,
stripped of its royal summer garments,
it hangs its head, naked in winter.

by S. P., Thorndike, ME