I have lilies, or rather I have amazing long strong stems,
with bustling lengths of elongated, yet broad, neatly tipped leaves
topped by clusters of fat buds I watch hawk-like for holes or worse
And worse rears it’s ugly prospect in the shape of two humping
lily-beetles; candy-red demons oblivious to my
vigilance. The weapon of mass destruction comes easily
to hand, the beetles tumble put of sight, their usual trick.
And I survey my stumpy spikes of lost hosta, lacy pale
remnant of munched brunnera, chewed to the ground memory of
lupins whose fabulous foliage never once stood a chance;
fritillaries, glaucous green promises stripped naked,
and I have no regrets. Enough is enough. The war is on.