You, Peony

The love-seat is placed at the one uncomfortable angle-

The table is out of reach for a cup or a glass-

The carpet's all ready to trip on,

And where is the other hand of the ormolu clock?

It's the sort of room where "Never mind" and "I'm so

sorry" echo endlessly.

How came you to blossom like this

From the tight hard bud of the room,

You peony,

White sunburst

Unbitten by ants, unrained on, unshaken?

May never a petal slide out of your heart!