Four-o-clocks - edited

[billy]

i think the edit cut out some of the parts that didn't really add much.
the two [the]s at the beginning don't do much for me and frost seems a better word to start with. the last line feels a little weak but i casn't suggest anything else really. you have a good little poem here that reflects the plight of many who are in love.

thanks for the read.

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.