The last few lilies on the stalk
Seem hesitant to me.
They’ve colored—slightly—and imply
They’ll soon be bursting free.
So dilatory, these last buds
In this September dawn.
Perhaps they know their siblings—all—
Have blossomed and have gone?
Or maybe it is Death himself
Who’s keeping them inside?
Why spread your glories to the sun
When Death will coincide?
I feel some kinship with this plant—
Though my veins run with blood.
Perhaps I too would never die
If I’d stayed in the bud?
His ex- was wearing sexy jeans
And broke his heart to smithereens.
Shakespeare Couplet:A Midsummer Night's Dream (41):
Our Theseus with his soon-bride-to-be
Debates the breeds of dogs—most amiably. (4.1)