Classic Poem

In my July garden
Larkspur and hollyhocks
Are shining under sunny skies
In blue and rosy flocks.

The stately garden gothic,
They are proudly high,
Flushed like the sunset,
Blue like noon sky.

Among its tall, straight brothers
One crooked larkspur stands
That yet has all the beauty
Any bee demands.

I do not know what sorrow
Touched it and made it bend.
I only know it keeps its
Beauty to the end.

The gardener cuts the larkspur
And lets it grow again,
And my crooked larkspur
Will be straight then.

But no winged thing that comes there
With fine, esthetic sense
Looking for love and honey
Will know the difference.