In the campaign against sorrow,

   a dash of sunshine, wide as a newborn,

rolled out onto the single sunflower plant,

   tall as an eight year old boy.

Its comical blooms, big as kids' faces,

   grinned without squinting, their easy shapes

like scribbled crayon sketches, cartoons of joy.

Where only a few days prior, when our caravan

   departed, were only buds (promises; intimations),

        compacted as fists.

Above, a vine of morning glories scampered improbably,

   to the top of the mulberry, its blue blossoms silly

at that height, like crepe paper posies

   trying to hide the basketball hoops in the gym.

Or, a party of bluebirds, young teens, surely,

   chattering, planning their outings.

Then, a bumble-bee, fuzzy with pollen

   emerged from the depths of yet another cheery flower,

cute as a rolling bear with a honey pot stuck onto its nose.