As I walked through the open door, I saw
A bouquet of flowers - cast upon
The dank brown listless pungent maw-
Of a dustbin, yes, you think in scorn.
I stopped and stared. Whatever thus?
The flowers were wreathed with silken class.
So fresh and new, but cast forlorn
Spirit and body asunder torn.
What spirit of Cupid has wreathed
Has unweaved. Unraveled
In the silken caress that falls apart
And the bared flowers, born again, start.