The rannucula leaves have yellowed
unopened buds droop,
perpendicular to the stem.
A pink petal falls on the open book,
clashing with the russet cover.
I don’t know why I’ve left
this bouquet so long.
If everything crashes into
something else,
what will this become,
other than compost, of course.
Once a week the paper runs
a photo of the rannucula fields,
grade school kids coloring,
amateur artists at their easels.
Persian buttercups,
this morning’s paper said.
I’d never heard
them called that.
They didn’t grow
where I grew up,
and so can’t fill me
with the longing
that daffodils can.