No flowers for the Abyss,
    How could you? Spring quietly
Avoids Winter. Will you?
They send color anyway
    To invade my ungardened Gray.
Don’t be grim when things grow.
Yet they live in glass
    Vases. Frigid, sterile, structured
Places. A clock I already know.
Have you seen these? Faces
    Colonizing my Abyss,
Shoo.