September 20, 2010
The Last Tuberose 
Tuberose,
A single bloom and
Heady scent that fills the air
Around my chair,
As I sit, with dusk
Graying scraps of sunlight
On the grass
Grown beneath my feet.
I watch for the
Evening’s first stars,
A hopeful triangle above my head,
That foretells not only dark’s arrival,
But speaks of work to be done
Before the long night’s rest.
Then, one afternoon I notice
My husband, the pruner,
Has cut the final stalk
And thrown it away.
Now, I stll search for
The late summer stars,
But I miss the
Sweet promise that
Filled my head
When that blossom of youth
Was still there.
– Sandra Marlowe © May 2011