Time takes the gracious petals away,
Elegance has withered and fallen,
Winds have spread the tiny pollen,
Beauty is lost, it is so fey.
If not hidden, a treasure becomes past,
Rich feelings and scents allure,
The tactile expression does not endure,
Its thin veneer cannot last.
Petals’ glory ruled yesterday,
My wildest wishes were granted.
But now, dead stems crackle from the bouquet.
The harmony is not taken for granted,
Mute spores lie in a silent play,
Another season may then be enchanted.
Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.