On Frost and Florals
Two hydrangeas in a vase
and they must have cost some-
without which a room stood bare
four walls enclosed in mighty chaste.
With duty to the florist’s care before
at once they stood tall,
placed in the hands of another from another
regard and admiration you couldn’t ignore.
and so the story goes that she was fair,
tended both with affectionate awe.
A mere two days went on,
and one maintained its petals galore
while the other, cared for just the same
sat sullen, leaves and corolla forlorn.
In panic and haste, to work the girl took.
scouring pages on how to revive the ailing bloom —
misting and tweezing she agonized,
little regard for the stronger blossom to its side.
and in the night’s quiet of her room,
prayed to her god seated on the moon-
“please don’t let the beauty die”.
as if she wouldn’t get more in June.
It’s now 3 days after, and in her wake,
rushes to check on the fallen flower —
as if a maiden to the deathbed of her father —
but stops short in absolute wonder
questioning if still in her slumber.
The sick cluster had come alive in abundance
maybe smaller in frame and stained from fertilizer
but when turned around just right,
held right up next to its partner.
Shame hit when she took a second glance,
and inspected the other askance —
Though still steady and stronger in stature,
neglect had tragically worn on its color.
On this she had to ponder —
had the honor of giving the weaker a second chance,
sapped on the beauty she didn’t have to manufacture?
-Orange
“Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.”- Robert frost
