Cona Adams Poet Couplet

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 December 7, 2017 at 11:37 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 January 10, 2017 at 5:14 PM This was beautiful a little sad but still a wonderfully descriptive and touching piece. Cona Adams January 11, 2017 at 8:32 AM Thank you, Chris. Think I'll hop over and visit to read.

Dennis East January 10, 2017 at 1:07 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 January 11, 2017 at 8:25 AM Thank you, Dennis. I will return the favor and visit your site.