Marigolds


Who dared to trim the yellow-red
flowers that encroached their heads
upon the path? The marigold
shards look dangerous and cold.

I suppose last night they appeared
to be but dusty moths that speared
their paper bodies and lightly scarred
the hedge. But no, the petals are hard.

Like the Palace Guard, the crushed elite,
they die when the Empire falls, their seat
in ranks of glory long foretold,
and lie betrayed, the bloody marigolds.


Donald Zirilli
10/8/99