November Foxgloves

A sonnet

photo by William J Spirdione

Green crinkled leaves reach for dry leaf litter,
Shrugging off the cold and frost, still growing.
Spring born babies with mothers as sitters,
Mother died after seeds she was throwing.

Digitalis purpurea, foxglove,
A biennial, sprout and grows first year,
Second year she flowers. Bees spread the love.
Seeds form, she dies, and throws what she held dear.

Tall spires of neat rows of drooping trumpets,
White-spotted with purple. Mothers seldom,
Live to see her babies bloom. No comforts,
For new motherhood, no one to welcome.

But grow they will, and they will multiply,
To fill nature’s niche, to her laws comply.