Your New Flowers (Here For You Now) and a Frost

Flower-Gathering by Robert Frost

I left you in the morning,
And in the morning glow,
You walked a way beside me
To make me sad to go.
Do you know me in the gloaming,
Gaunt and dusty gray with roaming?
Are you dumb because you know me not,
Or dumb because you know?

All for me
And not a question
For the faded flowers gay
That could take me from beside you
For the ages of a day?
They are yours, and be the measure
Of their worth for you to treasure,
The measure of the little while
That I've been long away.



Your New Flowers (Here For You Now)

The blanket,
left still sitting on the back lawn
with the dishes from our picnic supper,
is a bit cold now that morning has come.
You are still wrapped up in a corner
where we fell asleep together
under Orion, and God herself.
You had a bit of ham tangled in the brown lock
of hair you always pushed behind your ear,
I noticed as I scooped you up from the grass
in the sleepy blue light of Sunday morning,
and pecked you on the forehead.
Soon I will wake you, yes,
but for now I am content carrying you to bed,
tiptoeing through your house in the near dark,
because though Columba the dove knows, Mom does not.
And when you are tucked away,
I will scissor and snap off some of grandma's lilacs,
and the east bed's lilies under that red maple.
I'll put them in the vase on your bedside table,
the one from weeks ago with the thorny roses
I bought and the card reading in my sloppy hand:
"I'm sorry that I couldn't make it, m'dear, break a leg."

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