A bouquet of jonquils sits gently on a chair,
its colors muted as the lightly scented air;
No longer fresh and lovely as before,
when first arriving at the marble door.

A twist in timely plans had come undone,
a wounded soul flew outward toward the sun;
The wailing captured everyone's attention,
no doubt her heart could use an intervention.

Yet no one could even find the maiden fair,
this gesture had caught her totally unaware;
Her future just destroyed before the altar,
left friends and family startled in the foyer.

Night fell swiftly above the church's steeple,
and bells rang out to calm the worried people;
Hours later while she wiped her tears away,
an angel called her home amidst dismay.

The night had lingered on and as she slept,
the bunch of jonquils carried to her breast;
Became the sign she never could forget,
so jaded were the petals of love's regret.