droop their golden
bright heads when I lop
them off and place them in
a vase, bring them home –
to my place
I know I should leave them
alone
to stand ***** against
the cornstarch skies
and butterball of rays that
fly
but I want them badly
and even though I add them
to water
they always cry –
to be uncut
and live outside
to have the air and waltz
with the wind
they shed their yellow tears
on top of my table
and if I was able
to put them back on their stalks
I would walk out
and do it myself
and so, their depressed faces
fall
and rain yellow drops
of shame
all over my table-top
It’s cruel that I took them
inside -
never to see the sun
again
whence their name is
reminiscent of –
the golden orb of love