Elegy to a Dead Houseplant*
By Tom King
Do not our plants deserve our trust,
When we pluck them from the fertile dust?
Yet long they suffer for we forget,
To water, fertilize and yet,
Weeks and weeks we hurry by,
Scarce they ever catch our eye.
So they struggle on for light and air,
Bereft of moisture, starved for care.
Chosen for their green luxurious heads,
Of leaf and branch, and now all dead...
© 2022
* A parody of Katherine Philips' mournful eligy, ‘Epitaph’.
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