More Flowers

There are more flowers on this stubborn grave

Than when we came around just this morning,
Cleaning up your life into an article.
We failed for now, but there's no late warning

About that sort of thing. Your heart is full
The most when there is nothing on your tongue.
There's someone else who cares enough to pull

The weeds from up around where they have sprung
They lampoon you in their obstinate waves
As when you said, "I cannot die, for I am young."

There are more flowers on this stubborn grave.

May 12