Yesterday's Flowers

She threw them away at last,

Those last withering flowers on her desk.

They were cluttering up her desk so!

It is impractical, she tells herself,

To hold on to things that will die;

And the flowers were so old!

December's cold had brought them

With warmth, with a lover's sigh

Frosted on the windowpane

Of last year's winter.

I'd slipped, she spends

Another breath in saying,

And now winter's come again.

Now winter's come around again,

And she's kissed enough summers to know

That the flowers are rotting,

Turning black, and old;

And goodness knows,

They were plain enough

To begin with.