I have been in a recent love affair with the things we may tend to that grow from the primordial depths...and dirt.

A delicate home grown rose in light pink was recently given to me.

She took a fall, yesterday, and her petals were strewn across my spirit board. (I nearly cried.)

How strangely grotesque
Yesterday’s beauty can be,
Indeed.

Your poem reminds me of how I felt when I saw her collapse, before I could decide what to do about the beauty that is here before me now.

I've put her petals aside in a glass and am going to make tea...