THE POPPY

Within the pages
of this book
made in 1638
and close to the inner spine

I found by chance
in Job's lament
a pressed flower;
a browned Poppy,

thinner than a wafer
but recognizable.
It possibly
pre'dates Cromwell.

Whose hand placed it there?
Tomorrow I shall turn
to the Song of Songs
and look for time's pressed Rose.

IRISES

Last week, on the same day,
this embankment of Irises
was a thick cloud of white bloom
with subtleties of yellow and blue.

Now, none remain
on the drab stand
of scrabbling, dull
sword'leaf stems.

Tomorrow, after rain's
iridescence;
a choir of white buds
again.