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The Last Chrysanthemum

Oh, last mum standing, with head bowed low, to pinch my spirit as I watch you go. Your mates all gone, kissed by father frost will you now surrender and leave me lost - longing for the blush of red on your nose calling for delay of sharp winter snows?

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Mark Peterson

Date: 12/7/2017 11:37:00 AM

I ponder endlessly the last of things. The last time I'll see a person or place. The last time I'll do a certain thing or speak a common phrase. Now you have added one more thing to my list, and I'll remember this every time I think of your poem while glancing at that last November mum.

Chris Green

Date: 1/10/2017 5:14:00 PM

This was beautiful a little sad but still a wonderfully descriptive and touching piece.

Cona Adams
Date: 1/11/2017 8:32:00 AM

Thank you, Chris. Think I'll hop over and visit to read.

Dennis East

Date: 1/10/2017 1:07:00 PM

I like it because its a real poem and it paints a picture. I look forward to reading more of your work.

Cona Adams
Date: 1/11/2017 8:25:00 AM

Thank you, Dennis. I will return the favor and visit your site.