THE FLOWERS


The flowers took three weeks to die,
Resting on the bureau beside my bed.
Chrysanthemums protested each passing day
As carnations shriveled into saffron.
Last to die were the daisies
Curling up upon themselves,
Exhaling one last, sweet fragrance.
It haunts me still.
I salvaged the lavender ribbons,
And even now, they speak to me
Words you could not say
When I dared not hope.
Hope alone gives flower to the day.

Copyright 2001 by Janice Hale-Hobby