Our lawn has been infested
by violets, a swarming purple.
Next will come white daisies
and bohemian dandelions.

A lone daffodil has
somehow found its way,
but now the sun is out
they’ll start to come en masse.

Bluebells ring amidst a
daze of forget-me-nots.
Wild cyclamen appear
even a stray red strawberry.

These immigrants attract
bees and other insects,
troublemakers buzzing
in tongues I cannot speak.

Be sure it won’t stop there.
No, before you know it
they’ll flock, the birds and bats
and butterflies and crickets.

Every sound and language
under the sun will surround us;
a multitudinous riot
of culture, colour and song.

I fear for my children, they
will never know the past:
our English gardens’ green
and monocultural grass.

The more I talk to those of other countries living here, the more I see the beauty around me.
(14.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by virginia lackinger on Unsplash