Those robust peonies floated a day
or two in a green vase across the room,
red flotsam of life's high tide. Night by night
that red has been retreating to rose,
pink, pearl. Just before peonies die
they lose all color-except an edgy
ghost of red, like lipstick that didn't
come off before bed. Today we wake early,
restless. Remember how when love was new
it hedged itself with disbelief? We had
so many last days the last day never came.
Now the peonies are as pale as white can be,
their petals glowing with completion.
Peonies by Rolly Kent | Pink Peony Poetry Reed Diffuser
$20.00Price
