PASSION LIKE A FLOWER
Passion like a flower must expire.
Nothing can be rigged to spare desire
From life’s rigors — magic nor petitions.
Petals fall to various conditions.
When the dizzy petal-peak is past,
Some folks act as if the bloom could last,
Pick some wilting lilacs for their table,
Haul them homeward just to show they’re able,
Plunk them in a fruit jar lately washed
Clean of last fall’s bounty, cooked and squashed —
Like they thought the glass itself had power
To delay the spoiling of the flower.
It may work a day, two days, or so,
Then the smell and color start to go.
Nothing glassy can preserve desire;
Passion like a flower must expire.
Spring comes early in the Northwest. By this time, many flowering trees are spent. the blooms that were so intense in late March and April are brown and gone.
As I walked through town tonight, I couldn’t miss the signs of the season moving on. Trees that a week or two before were full and fragrant were now brown and empty. Flower petals were scattered across the grass. The heady first-flush of spring was long gone.
Here’s an old poem that seemed right for the season.
Poetic Champions 