down I walk
through fields and trees
when there! I see
a poor potted plant
oh, so shriveled and cold
its posies darkened
with chewed marigolds
and lilies drooped down
to smother a rose
in its abandoned array
I see myself
a colorful collection, spurned
for no other reason than impracticality
daily water, daily sunlight,
are those things too hard to provide?
don’t worry small plant
you stray bouquet thrown away!
my sill is yours tonight
And so the man removes the collection of flowers, vase and all, from its perch on the headstone. It is added to his embrace of flowers found before, and he moves not far before making the exact same promise to yet another offering for the dead during his wander through the graveyard.
Morning's Early Dark 