Helianthus


I tried
not to
mow you down

your head
hung low so low
your bright-yellow life, gone

and your face, down
in the ground you’ve been staring at
the sun’s photosynthesis love, stolen

but I wanted you
to stand as a symbol
of fall’s cool voice

and perhaps white winter stalks
standing like the strength of the human spirit
pushed up by the warmth of spring light

your life enriching new life
your memories, passed on
by the voices

of young flowers.