Woodland Theft

Ah, there they were, the rare and
lovely specimens, colonizing a
steep hillside, snuggled among the
yews and the lesser violets, flaunting
their pristine white flags unfolding
against the raw forest floor, their
tender spring stalks rooted firmly in
leaf mould, bulbs well entrenched
inciting in this avid gardener the
greedy vision of transplantation
in my very own garden, discreetly
where those shy flowers are certain
to survive the shock of abduction
and I, the culprit, taking them from
their woodland Eden, basking in an
unrepentant triumph of botanical
thievery, glow with pride. They are
in fact being re-acquainted with 
distant cousins which a decade or
so earlier became refugees under
quite similar circumstances, pillaged
from that same forest, now thriving
as proud denizens of my garden.