Easter Peonies
Pink peonies are dying. Only those
Most hidden in the shades from one near bush
Hold on to sturdy hope, to lingering rose
Determination not to wilt. These push
With frilled resistance, blowse-like guimpes, against
That insubstantial thing called death. They take
The final stand, their beauty more condensed
Than ever now that they, frills and all, make
Ultimate decisions not to die. Yet
They will. And, yes, their flimsiness full well
Discerns their fate and this is why they get
Their seed pods ready near their hearts to swell
Up later into life, hearts darker pink,
So dark, so deep that it can never sink.