Spent Flowers
We do not love spent flowers;
The ones crinkled at the edges,
The drooping, dropping petals,
The browning, wrinkled blooms
That dry and die on the stem,
Wizened mummies of their
Former pristine freshness.
We prize the swelling buds,
Perfect packages of potential,
Baby-faced blossom bundles
Unfurled and untouched by trial.
We treasure the newly opened rose,
Half-blown on a midsummer morn,
Its fragrance chaste, restrained,
Pent-up in anticipated glee
Awaiting noon and full sun.
We admire the full-blown lily-
“They’re such good value;
They last so well!”-
They might as well be silk
Until the pollen stains the altar cloth
And meaty petals tumble,
Cascade in sudden death-throes
To lie like bright compost
Waiting the broom and bin.
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Sadly, nature’s beauty is shortlived, but such joy to behold at the start!
their essence remains, even in the scent, to return again from the compost. Thank you Viv this is beautiful ..
Beautiful words as ever, Vivienne – but there’s a melancholy about this as well. It made me think ‘Is this how people are treated sometimes? Spent and discarded?’ – which is perhaps where the melancholy comes from.
I have a poem about spent flowers – similar images, different perspective. http://yearningblue.weebly.com/last-weeks-red-roses.html
Well spotted! It *is* indeed more about people than flowers.
I suspect I know you too well, already! The ever-budding youth, the promise rather than the mature reflection. Ah yes.
The good value lily 🙂 well evoked, their meaty petals tumble and cascade in sudden death-throes. They look grand, but I find their scent is overwhelming.
Made me think how I enjoy meadowflowers, violets, bluebells or the fragile sweetpeas, and how gracefully they let go.
Beautiful piece Viv, evoking all kinds of images and similarities with life…