A few leggy stalks,

still tall and sporting purple ruffs.

But most bow low, exhausted,

or loll about the lip of the vase.

April in the distance,

I am protective of this

store-bought spring, reluctant

to simply chuck them out.

Over breakfast, I notice

the bright trails of pollen

they've wept across

the polished table top.

I touch them with my fingertip,


and take heart.

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.