When the azaleas are blooming

Petty politics of people
harvests happiness from the air.
But at home, the azaleas are blooming
Brilliant Scarlet Lake  red,
In spite of my not having worried
over them as I should have.
At work I've poured my feelings
onto altars of falsehoods.
But at home, the cardinals are singing
and mourning doves coo
Though I do nothing but
put out water and birdseed
And drink and eat the peace
of a backyard of truth.
The smells of stress
fill the stagnant office air.
But at home, the aroma
of flowers, of greening trees,
of pinon wood and fresh planted herbs
stir with every fresh breeze
through my nostrils and pores.