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| DEAREST, we are like two flowers | |
| Blooming last in a yellowing garden, | |
| A purple aster flower and a red one | |
| Standing alone in a withered desolation. | |
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| The garden plants are shattered and seeded, | 5 |
| One brittle leaf scrapes against another, | |
| Fiddling echoes of a rush of petals. | |
| Now only you and I nodding together. | |
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| Many were with us; they have all faded. | |
| Only we are purple and crimson, | 10 |
| Only we in the dew-clear mornings, | |
| Smarten into color as the sun rises. | |
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| When I scarcely see you in the fiat moonlight, | |
| And later when my cold roots tighten, | |
| I am anxious for the morning, | 15 |
| I cannot rest in fear of what may happen. | |
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| You or I—and I am a coward. | |
| Surely frost should take the crimson. | |
| Purple is a finer color, | |
| Very splendid in isolation. | 20 |
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| So we nod above the broken | |
| Stems of flowers almost rotted. | |
| Many mornings there cannot be now | |
For us both. Ah, Dear, I love you!
Scribner’s Magazine | |
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