Four-o-clocks - edited

[Mopkins]

2nd edit
Four-O-Clocks

Frost has burned the four-o-clocks,
the seed heavy heads are bronze and black
and the browning leaves are wilted.

This morning I sat nursing my bruised love,
devastated by your coldness last night,
feeling an affinity with the flowers.

I pull out the stems and, like my love,
the tubers stubbornly remain
ready to sprout again.


1st edit
Four-O-Clocks

The frost has burned the four-o-clocks,
the seed heavy heads are bronze and black
and the browning leaves are wilted.

This morning I sat nursing my bruised love,
devastated by your coldness last night,
feeling an affinity with the flowers.

I pull out the stems and, like my love,
the tubers stubbornly remain
ready to sprout again.



Original
Four-O-Clocks

The frost has burned the four-o-clocks,
the seed heavy heads are bronze and black
and the browning leaves are wilted.

This morning I sat nursing my bruised love,
devastated by your coldness last night,
feeling an affinity with the flowers.

Now inspired, I pull out the stems
and the tubers stubbornly remain
ready to sprout again.

While your occasional frostiness affects me
yet my love springs up reborn from deep within
and persists like the four-o-clocks.