“Yucca Filamentosa”
Is not what I grew up
calling these bunches
of grand green daggers

The towering central spike
and creamy white flowers
defying the rains
and the heat of June.

Masses guarding old farmyards,
some for houses long gone.
Here, the only sign
of a quiet grave.

Bravely green in all seasons,
Winter barely browns it.
The thicket of swords
shades a crumbing lamb.

Stop beneath these nodding blooms
send a wish, remember.
You will pass from here,
“Adams Blade” remains.