Hecate's Due

You who are dead,
Do you know
They've dug up half the irises
That used to grow
Here in the quadrangle a year ago?
Those left are mere
Points of blue
That can't make sky of earth, as once
They used to do,
Didn't they? Buried flowers . . . Proserpin's due.

poem by Lesbia Harford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!