Saw a vase on the table
sweet williams and chyrsanths,
perfect, like from a fable,
ready for French romance.

the greens and reds contrasted
in lively voice of colour
as if they knew their planting
was theirs to scream and holla

Now they're tired and wither,
their heads droop down in pain,
they know not whither nor whether
their strength they will regain