Here lie the pitiful potted petunias that started life with such sparkle and optimism in May. ‘Tis no fault of their own that they have suffered an early demise.

I find it a joyful prospect to keep them watered in May and June. When July comes, I am slowing down in my enthusiasm. I might let a day slip by and get to the watering later in the afternoon, rather than in the morning. The petunias sense my lack of commitment and feel it keenly. Once or twice I might accidentally forget altogether and run out in the morning with water and abject apologies. But they know. They know my fickle heart.

By August, the petunias are becoming a weight on my soul. “What? You need water AGAIN?” I drag my feet and bring the watering cans to the hoses for refills. “Didn’t I just water you guys?” Even with consistent watering, they are showing their age. The bloom of youth is gone. They know it. I know it.

I usually rally and make sure they don’t die off until late September when it becomes more in the natural scheme of things. But a few days ago, I skipped a whole day of watering. The thought came unbidden: “I could just quit.” Okay, maybe it was bidden. Another day went by. “I should water them, shouldn’t I? What kind of person lets their flowers just die of thirst?” Another day. And another day. I guess I am that kind of person. I’m not proud of it, but the deed is done.

Here lie the dried-up petunias,
Dead before their time.
I confess that I did ruin ya,
Then I made a bad rhyme.

But just to cheer you up, there’s still lots of pizazz in the perennial garden where the flowers aren’t dependent on me. And the beetles are enjoying themselves a bit too much!

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Here lies the dried up blog post
I’ll finish it off in the morning,
It’ll be just like dried up toast
Gone without much warning.