/lit/ - Literature

To a Trampled Lilac on the Bryant Park Station Steps

Were you the one I promised then
I'd give my not quite lover?
No, that has withered: then again,
A likeness, or a brother?

As sharp gusts from the stairs distend
Your color, dulled, reminds me.
Then like a bull loosed from its pen
The present shoves behind me.

But let me stay awhile and look
In sentimental fear.
I crushed you once inside a book:
How have I found you here?

Now all but I chase their affairs,
Like she who flees me. Off somewhere,
The wind rises to meet her,

And meanwhile, rushed on, I descend.
Farewell, fair traveler, floral friend:
I won't see you twice either.