Peonies, Agamemnon, and the Iliad
The peonies hold on in night-time dark.
They fade and slacken to another kind
Of loveliness. They do not know the stark
Fate bearing down on them. Their pinks are blind,
As blind as Homer in the palace of
A king condemned by earthquake, singing still.
What matter death and blindness? Still above
Them are the song and petals with a frill.
A night or tremor will destroy the king,
His royal keep, and petals. They all fall.
Yet now, just now, the petals will not wing
Their way to dirt. Death’s silence won’t appall
The song yet. It lives on across the years,
Allied with life and music of the spheres.
………………………………Dying peony