The Crepe Myrtle are
brilliant, only a little flimsy,
With cerise ruffled blooms speaking of whimsy.
Let me tell you they are nothing in comparison
To baby's smile for our heart won.
The apple trees have bloomed and are heavy,
Golden, Chartreuse, Red offer their levy.
Still and all they pale in significance,
We are greater pleasured by the grandson's stance.
All at once in my naive wanderings I see,
Difference in love for vegetation's degree.
Grandson is learning of Scotland's Glen,
Edinburgh's festival's bring him a grin.
He at four knows of the music of bagpipe,
Loves to shudder at Nessie's monster might.
And as much as I love the green,
Never can it make me feel such a queen.