Petals of Pain

Pale pink peonies, I carried on the day we said, "I do." Not the innocence of white Queen Anne's Lace of spring, nor romantic stems of red roses on a sultry summer day. In all the years shared together, we were never apart, but now, my heart grieves as it does for withered petals. On each anniversary, you gave me a large bouquet, and not once did you ever forget the day, my love. In a crystal vase, the blooms were arranged with care and enjoyed for days until the petal's color began to fade. This year, there will be no pink peonies on the table. I bought some for you, and tomorrow I'll take the walk, to bring them to you, arranged in a crystal vase carefully placed in front of the nameplate of your grave. I wish my wedding flowers had been roses or tulips, for the number of their petals are far less than a peony. Pity for me that as each fragile flower head droops, each petal will wilt and one by one fall upon the ground. A tear for each one will ribbon down my cheek and although my lips will form the words, "I miss you," I know they will be impossible for me to speak. The stem of a peony has no thorns to prick my finger, but when each velvet petal plummets to its death, I will hear the notes of Reveille echoing in my ears as if it was being played in a brass section of horns. I will scorn the mortality of death, and the sorrow it brings as the pain buries itself deeper inside my heart. I am withering like a flower from my wedding bouquet that has been pressed between the pages of Keats.* We are crumbling and fragile, now that you are gone. ********************** *Two favorite verses from John Keats' 'Hither, Hither, Love' Though one moment's pleasure In one moment flies ~ Though the passion's treasure In one moment dies; ~ Hither, hither, hither Love its boon has sent ~ If I die and wither I shall die content!