Ring ring ring simultaneously ringing, annoyingly.
Eyelashes opening wide and pupils staring into the shady ceiling.
With thoughts chasing each other, you decide to get your legs on the floor,
but first your arm flexes to the right, fingers searching for some plastic, nothing.
Moments later, head jerks up and you hear the hair unsticking from the pillow,
pupils shift gaze from the ceiling to look at your frantic fingers.
You search with those pupils for frames but you can't see nothing.
Finally your legs hit the floor but conveniently lands with a crack.
Those pupils then squint to the floor and fingers dart to the sound,
and you reach down and sadly pick up broken pieces of that plastic, that frame.
Your glasses broke.
Broken glasses, not good.
The gardens awaits your presence but how,
tape might stick but it'll bother the brow.
Broken in three bits,
your sight feels abandoned.
Broken glasses, terrible timing.
Bits clasped in fingers, only wondering what you'll see.
Without the plastic on your nose-bridge, you're toast.
No time to get it fixed, no contacts, no extras, you're scrambled.
You're visiting an exclusive garden, and the anxiety creeps in,
vultures settle in after they ate the butterflies in your stomach .
You pay the tickets and enter the unfamiliar gardens.
Nothing is clear.
With zero aid in vision,
Missing opportunities to see,
the marigolds swarming with bees,
the sunflower gowned in rays of early light,
the breeze of her step subtly rocking the daffodils,
the brave and bold tulips drowning in armies of themselves,
the daisies showing off their photogenic skin for more pictures,
the ladybugs hiding in the spirals and circles of the roses freshly bloomed.
