La mort des fleurs

Upon a grave, I lay the rose to sleep,
And tulips bowed as silence claimed the air.
The lily wept in petals soft and deep,
While foxglove rang no more its warning fair.

With daffodils, I marked the days gone cold,
And violets whispered truths too shy to say.
The marigold stood stiff in mourning gold,
While hyacinths recalled a brighter May.

Sweet edelweiss, thou bloom from heights remote,
Now pressed between the pages of our time.
Aster and crocus sing no more by rote,
Their songs undone in sorrow’s quiet chime.

Thus dandelions drift where laughter died—
What once was kin, the nettle now denied.