Sat sinking deep

Red armchair thinking

Curtains on the cusp of something –

Open them let the light flow

Softly, softly now, into the room

Where it reveals old being new;

 

On the windowsill there is a sunflower

With its head confidently raised

‘you’ve watered it every day’

To bring the English country home

Inside to confide

With warm unnatural glows

 

Trim it down the stem

And realise as day turns to night

Turns to leaves falling

Turns to winter

Turns to water droplets on the window

Mist and fog

That it cannot last it will die –

 

Watch the petals fall and slide

To the floor

It cannot handle or understand

the urban interior light

it makes no substitute.

 

Its vase remains

Close the curtains

Again – the petals fall one by one

By one

By one.

 

by Michael Morgan