My Poety: I Hold Your Favourite Flower

I Hold Your Favourite Flower‏

---

In left hand I hold
a flower, least it was once
before shaking hand cut
its green thorny fuse
by morning light.
I raise it to my nose
to see if the ghost
of its perfumed spirit
still remains
within its velvet white petals.
I hold it hoping to bring
back beauty to where
a beauty was lost.

The grave evening is so still
I can hear autumn's breath
blow gold leaves
across the unmown grass,
pure green except for the patch
at my knees;
hear the wind whisper,
just like you used to:
'Get up before you ruin
your trouser suit.'
Your voice fills me again
as wet fingers return
broken flower's fuse to earth,
though I know
it can no longer grow old,
just like you cannot.